


Passive Aggressive

by the_crown_jules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Blow Jobs, Humor, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch, Romance, Scotland, Smut, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_crown_jules/pseuds/the_crown_jules
Summary: When Harry joins the world of professional Quidditch, he thinks it’s finally the key to a carefree life, but at the end of the season it seems his friends have moved on without him while he’s been on the road with the team. Since when has Pansy been in love with Neville? Since when has Ron been playing Wizard Chess with Draco Malfoy? And how does everyone except him seem to know where the dishes are kept in his own house? It’s time to put down roots and start training as an Auror. Now if only he weren't partnered with a certain snarky blond... Featuring romantic gestures, bickering, pining, unlikely friendships, charmed houses, kissing bets, cream donuts, miserable ferry rides in Scotland, a sassy ghost, and so many smoldering glances.





	1. After the War

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury etc.
> 
> Further disclaimer: I want to acknowledge up front that I am a straight woman writing about a gay relationship and my style is filtered through that lens, although I am trying to learn from frank conversation with friends with relevant experience. Please take my foray into this world in the spirit it's intended, which is all about my belief in this lovely pairing and not a presumption of understanding on my part.

******_Prologue_ **

**Fall 2001**

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked with some amount of exasperation at the four young aurors sprawled in his office chairs. Ginny’s hair was coming out of its plait and she somehow seemed to have damaged her shield vest, which Kingsley had thought was impossible. Part of it was smoking slightly from a ragged hole. Harry’s robe was missing a sleeve, or was it missing everything except a sleeve? Draco’s leg was oozing blood slowly from a long, shining cut and Ron was completely covered in….soot? Dirt? It was hard to tell underneath the pungent green slime that dripped over all of them (and seemed fully resistant to standard cleaning charms). Four stubborn pairs of eyes glared at him from a variety of defensive positions -- crossed arms, raised chins, hunched shoulders. All except Draco, who lounged languidly in the uncomfortable chair like this was just another Tuesday in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor and the slime was his preferred hair product. Kingsley rubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

“This isn’t working,” he said.

Draco looked as if he was about to say something sneering but Ron punched him in the arm, earning himself a stinging hex from Draco’s seeker-fast reflexes.

“Are you _children?_ Honestly,” Kingsley said before Harry and Ginny could get involved. “I know you all care about this work, _regardless of your opinions about each other,_ ” he finished quickly as they started to clamor with accusations.

“I thought you would be able to set aside your personal differences in service of the department. Clearly, I was wrong. You’re not leaving me a lot of choices here. You’ve seen how effectively the established auror teams work with each other. I’m not going to break up successful partnerships because the four of you can’t get your act together. SO.” He took a deep breath, considering what he was about to do.

“Harry, Ginny, you are no longer partners. Draco, Ron, same for you. We’re going to see how things go with a rearrangement.” He saw alarm rise in their faces, and honestly he felt more than a little alarmed as well. _They are about to be furious_ , he thought, _but I think this gamble could pay off. Eventually._

“Draco, Harry, get used to each other. You’re partners now. Ron and Ginny, same with you. END OF DISCUSSION!” This last he had to practically thunder at them over their outbursts, which sounded highly unprofessional in content. “ _Merlin._ I am the head of your department, control yourselves. I know you could all be really excellent if you could just get out of your own way. Go figure out how to clean yourselves up and try out being civil. I don’t want to have another conversation like this. And Ginny, please notify the Unspeakables about the new method you seem to have found to destruct their indestructible vests.”

Sulking, the four squelched out of his office. As he penned a memo to maintenance to come deal with the residual slime he thought to himself, _how on earth did we end up here?_

 

**_Chapter 1: After the War_ **

**Winter 1999 - Summer 2000**

It had been a grueling game. To everyone’s surprise (and Ron’s somewhat complicated joy), the Chudley Cannons were fielding a good team this year, and there was no getting around it: Puddlemere had been outplayed. They had even scored three times against Oliver Wood, one of the best Keepers in the current league -- some would argue the best in decades. Despite Ginny’s individual prowess, the Cannons chasers seemed to play more seamlessly as a unit and had executed some really remarkable interceptions. The incredibly low-scoring game ultimately came down to the Seeker, which was not how they liked to leave it, because even with a world-class flyer like Harry there was an added element of luck. That added element today had been a well-timed bludger from the Cannons that had knocked Harry bodily away from the win.

The subdued Puddlemere team did a brief initial review of the game in their locker room that they knew would be converted into strategic planning under Oliver’s guidance the next day. Nursing sore muscles, the players gradually wandered towards the showers, except Harry, who had stripped down to his breeches and was examining his bludger injury with his captain. It had hit him in the ribs and although his Quidditch leathers had prevented fractures, a deep purple bruise was already blooming across his olive skin and it clearly hurt him to breathe. Harry went very still as Oliver did an initial inspection with his hands and then a second inspection with spells, determining which types of healing charms and potions would suit the injury. It was standard practice now for captains to receive basic healer training since accidents were so common even in routine practice. Some gentle spells shimmered over Harry’s torso and the bruising began to lessen.

“I think you could benefit from some extra support for a couple of days, mate,” Oliver said, unspooling a roll of muggle medical gauze. “I’m going to wrap you up muggle-style, okay? Just lift your arms up a little bit, not too high, and I’ll bring this around you.”

His arms encircled Harry as he gently wrapped his torso and despite his discomfort, Harry felt a curious sense of energy. He was suddenly very aware of Oliver’s warmth and the brush of his arms, and when Oliver circled around the front their eyes met. They momentarily froze in their motions, seized by some unexpected connection. Harry’s breath hitched and Oliver’s jaw slackened slightly before he shook his head as if clearing it and continued his treatment.

Unnoticed by either of them, Ginny had caught this interaction on her way to get something from her locker. A small frown creased her brow as she walked away.

**…………**

“Good practice today, Harry,” said Oliver. “I think these trick snitches are going to be a real innovation.” Ron’s involvement with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes had led to a line of Quidditch-related products, including trick snitches originally meant for adding amusement to casual games but that had proven useful for professional practice. The snitches could blink out of existence in one part of the field and re-form in another, achieve top speeds well beyond regulation equipment, and become harder to spot due to a partial disillusionment charm. Practicing with them improved seeker observational skills and agility. Harry had really demonstrated in practice today why he had been drafted immediately to the Puddlemere starting lineup.

 As they walked off the field, Oliver draped an arm casually over Harry’s shoulders, their heads close together, deep in discussion of strategy. Seemingly of its own accord, Harry’s arm snaked up to wrap around Oliver’s waist. Ginny walked behind them with the rest of the team, who were all engaged in their own conversations about the innovative practice techniques. She added a comment here and there but her attention was focused on the two attractive men walking ahead of her in an unexpectedly cozy position. Her eyes widened as if in sudden realization.

**…………**

Harry was pleasantly warm from the wine they had had with dinner and he basked in the relaxed conversation he shared with Ginny. At some point for _this_ him, post-Voldemort him, she had become his best friend. They saw each other nearly every day as they traveled with the team and spent time with their shared family. They had taken things slow in their courtship, but that suited them both fine. They hadn’t wanted to jump into anything after the war. Ginny was the only other person who had experienced something close to the connection he had with Voldemort. She understood that he needed time to sort out his thoughts and experiences.

He knew there were steps that people would probably be surprised to find out they hadn’t taken. They had kissed a lot in the beginning, trying to recapture the feeling of their Hogwarts days, but they had ended up feeling like they needed to start from whether they were now. It was confusing to their friends why they slept in separate rooms at Grimmauld Place when they were in London (something they had been able to conceal for a year until Ron and Hermione moved in on the third floor), or why the most public affection they displayed was the occasional joking elbow to the ribs or ruffling of hair.

But their intimacy was their own...type. The kind of intimacy formed by moments waking up in her arms with her soothing touch on his forehead, the lingering effects of a nightmare and the feeling of a shout in his throat fading away. The kind of intimacy formed by ganging up on Ron and trying to pull over a prank on George. The kind of intimacy formed by helping each other out of disgusting mud-and-sweat-soaked Quidditch leathers and falling asleep on the couches of foreign hotel rooms in exhaustion. The kind of intimacy that just...didn’t leave a lot of room for other kinds of intimacy. But Harry loved her and their relationship, so he thought the rest would come as they healed. He assumed. In the meantime, he was just enjoying the comfort of her warm, teasing presence.

It took him a moment to notice that Ginny was looking at him intently over their dessert -- or what remained of it, since treacle tart never lasted long in front of Harry. His curiosity heightened  when she cast a muffliato charm to shield their conversation from the other diners. Harry looked at her questioningly.

“What’s up, Gin?”

“So when are we going to shag, Harry?”

He nearly choked, descending into a coughing fit as Ginny grinned at him lovingly. 

“ _Merlin,_ Harry, the look on your face. I have never dated a man less committed to getting in my pants.”

“I’m just not… we agreed it was best to take things slow…you said that was fine,” Harry stammered.

“And it _is_ fine, Harry.” She reached across the table and took his hands reassuringly in hers. “We knew things were going to be different after the war and it would take us some time to find our rhythm. But it’s been years now, and we _have_ found our rhythm. It’s just... to me, it’s clearly as friends.”

Harry had to protest. “But...Ginny...I love you, I can’t _imagine_ my life without you.”

“I love you too, Harry, and I certainly don’t plan on going anywhere. But can you honestly tell me that if I stopped calling you my boyfriend that anything about our relationship as it is would change?”

“I…”

“Think about it, Harry. Really think about it. We’re roommates. Teammates. Best friends. We drink tea in the morning and fight over the sports section in the Prophet and stopped kissing each other with any real determination ages ago. I’ve seen you naked sixteen ways that definitely aren’t sexy. And you’re part of my family regardless of whether you’re _with_ me.”

Harry took a deep breath and then sagged in defeat. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I want to be what you need, but -”

Ginny cut him off. “You _are_ what I need, Harry. No one knows me better or makes me feel more comfortable. What we have is fantastic. It’s just...a fantastic friendship.”

She squeezed his hand and he realized that he was feeling something akin to a mixture of gratitude and relief. And love, so much love, as if… as if for a sister. _Merlin, she was right._

He barely had a moment before these warm feelings became alarm when he heard her say,

“And as your friend I want to encourage you to consider that maybe it isn’t _time_ you need to want to shag me. Maybe what you need is someone else.”

“I don’t know, Ginny,” said Harry sadly. “You’re beautiful and you’re my best friend. If I can’t make it work with you, I don’t know how I’d make it work with someone else.”

She gave a small smile. “You can think I’m beautiful without wanting to shag me, Harry. I’ve been thinking lately that…” she trailed off.

“That…?” Harry prompted.

“That...maybe I don’t have the right...body parts,” she finished carefully. Harry stared.

“I think, Harry, that if you asked the _very_ dreamy Oliver Wood on a date, he would say yes. Now finish your tart before I steal it from you.”

**…………**

It was a toss-up which news was bigger: that Quidditch stars Oliver Wood and Harry Potter were dating each other, or that Quidditch stars Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter were NOT dating each other. The media was determined to create a frenzy of drama where there wasn’t any, seemingly unable to grasp the idea of “casual dating” that so far defined Harry and Oliver’s relationship, or the fact that Harry and Ginny seemed to be as close as ever and were still living together. Ridiculous gossip abounded, but internally all was calm. The only thing that really mattered to Harry was how the team responded. Once it became clear that (as Ginny predicted) nothing between Harry and Ginny had really changed and that the team wasn’t going to suffer from love triangle drama, everything settled down except for ticket sales, which were through the roof. Speculation on the team was that crowds were hoping for a glimpse of Ginny’s trademark temper, but they had been disappointed -- at least when it came to her own teammates. 

“Oh for Godric’s sake,” Ginny scoffed, plopping down on the living room sofa and flinging _Witch Weekly_ down on the table. “Apparently your new boy toy is Draco Malfoy? What will they think of next.”

Harry looked at the cover, featuring a slightly grainy photo he didn’t even know existed, of a moment that looked more intimate than he would have imagined at the time. Not that he didn’t remember the moment. He remembered it very clearly, because it was the only moment in his memory when Draco Malfoy had let his sarcastic veneer slip and said something Harry had been certain was completely sincere. At some point during this contemplation he realized he was just staring at the photo, while Ginny looked at him with a look of increasing speculation.

“....Unless he is your boy toy?” she said with curiosity.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harry said, “they’re just mad you and I aren’t giving them any good gossip lately. This was after the Malfoy hearing last year, hardly _date material_. He stopped me in the lobby and I wanted to… well I wanted to tell him I had done the best I could.”

“I think he heard you, mate,” said Ginny. “Practically need to cast a cooling charm just with that photo in the house. I wouldn’t say no to Draco Malfoy looking at _me_ like that.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t let Bradley hear you say that.”

“Keep up, Harry, Bradley is _so_ two weeks ago.”

Harry considered the photo again incredulously. “Honestly, though, apparently seven year’s complete hatred is what counts as passion now?”

“More passion than _I_ got from you,” Ginny pouted exaggeratedly, then laughed as Harry threw a sofa pillow at her.

“Might consider it Harry, he’s a fit bloke these days. I hear he’s even sold Malfoy Manor. Has a flat in London like a normal person. Probably looks like Versailles though,” she scoffed. “You can take the Malfoy out of the manor, _et cetera_.”

“Exactly, still Malfoy. Seriously, Ginny. Besides, I’m dating Oliver,” Harry said, without much conviction.

“Are you dating Oliver, or are you dating a book about Quidditch tactics?”

“I think I heard Kreacher from the other room,” Harry said, walking hastily towards the kitchen.

“Tell him about the Kenmare Kestrels 1997 seeker statistics!” Ginny called after him.

“Arse,” he said under his breath, smiling.

As Harry wandered into the kitchen for another cup of coffee (Kreacher was taking a day off, as Ginny well knew), his mind wandered back to that strange memory in spite of himself. Malfoy had caught up to him in the lobby of the ministry following the unusual hearing when his father had spoken under veritaserum to try to clear the family name before he died. Harry had heard that Lucius had since stabilized and was living out his days under house arrest in France. But he would never forget the physical effort it had taken Lucius to speak at that hearing nor the anguished faces of his wife and son. It had taken all of Harry’s _Chosen One_ influence to get everyone to agree to let it take place at all. He wasn’t sure how much of a difference it had made, except to one person.

Draco’s face at the hearing had still had the pinched and haunted look of a teenager pushed past all endurance, and his face when he had called Harry’s name in the lobby was full of emotions too strong to conceal under his old Malfoy sneer. When Harry turned to face him, he had said something quietly to his mother, who released her white-knuckled grip from her son’s sleeve and went to wait for him by the fireplace that would take them to St. Mungo’s.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Harry had said, without preamble. “I did everything I could, but…”

Seemingly unable to speak, Draco had actually reached out and clasped Harry’s forearm, looking at him with a sincerity Harry didn’t know he possessed.

“Thank you,” Draco had said. “I know you did. Thank you for...for what you did for my family. We...we only have each other now and…” he broke off, still gripping Harry’s arm, and trying to convey with his face what he was unable to say. Harry had reached up and gently squeezed Malfoy’s shoulder, looking back with understanding at his old enemy.

Watching this gesture splashed across the cover of the magazine on his coffee table like any other celebrity gossip, he felt the all-too-familiar pained annoyance of yet another private moment invaded. That he had had a private moment of that level of intensity with Draco Malfoy was a thought for another day. Passion? A type of it, he supposed. He shook his head and took his coffee back out to Ginny. Regardless of her teasing, she had promised to help him plan a non-sports-related date with Oliver.

**…………**  

“No Oliver?” said Ginny, as she tucked into her breakfast across from Harry at a small cafe in Hogsmeade. They had just finished the season with a home game and Harry was shocked to realize how long it had been since he’d had time to visit Ron and George at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He saw them as often as Ginny did at family dinners at the Burrow, but even those had been sporadic lately. They had so many games on the continent and he felt like when they were in London they were either training or passed out from exhaustion. Ron and George were going to leave the shop with their capable manager and join Harry and Ginny for breakfast, but Harry wasn’t surprised they had beat them there. By a lot. Something always seemed to happen last-minute at the shop. They had given up and ordered breakfast half an hour ago.

“We broke up last night,” said Harry as he buttered a slice of toast. “It was amicable, though, not like we had been making big plans for the future. I’m sure you’re not surprised.”

“No,” admitted Ginny. “It’s a shame, though, he is _gorgeous_.”

Harry grinned. “And a phenomenal kisser.”

“And phenomenal other things, if the sounds I heard from down the hall were any…”

“Hey!” said Harry. “That’s none of your business!”

“If you don’t want it to be my business, take the three seconds to cast a silencing charm,” Ginny said unabashedly. “Anyway, this Quidditch captaincy is his dream. I can see how he wouldn’t have room for anything else right now.”

“Got it in one,” said Harry, just as Ron and George walked up.

“Ooh bacon, I’m starving!” exclaimed Ron, reaching automatically for Ginny’s plate. She slapped his hand away.

“Order your own, Ronald, or I’ll give you a pig’s tail like Harry’s cousin,” Ginny said, reaching for her wand. He backed off.

As the waitress came by to take the new orders, Harry said, “Any chance of Hermione joining us? She was already at the hospital when we got up this morning.”

“Actually it’s her day off at St. Mungo’s, so yes, she’ll be along later,” said Ron. “She’s out with Pansy right now, something about a gift for Neville.”

Ginny choked and Harry’s bite of toast fell inelegantly from his open mouth. “I’m sorry, I seem to have misheard absolutely everything you just said. She’s _what_ with _who_ now?”

“Pansy.” said Ron, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Neville’s birthday is coming up and apparently she’s up to something elaborate that she can’t do alone. Actually, we’re hoping to have a party for both of you at Grimmauld Place since you’re here next week, been meaning to mention.”

“Pansy...Parkinson?” said Ginny.

Ron stared at her. “Wait… you know Pansy and Neville are dating, right? Almost a year now, I think. They’re serious.”

“Pansy,” said Harry intelligently, “and Neville. Longbottom. Our Neville. Wait, the same Pansy who _tried to turn me over to Voldemort_?”

“Yeah, well, she was terrified, wasn’t she? That wasn’t an easy time for anyone,” said Ron, “even Slytherins.”

“Oh don’t look at us like that,” said George in response to Harry’s very raised eyebrows. “Pansy’s a right laugh once you get to know her. She and Hermione are thick as thieves now. _Scary_  together, though,” he said thoughtfully.

“I know _I_ sleep with one eye open,” Ron said with a laugh. “Remember that tickling hex they put on my pajamas?”

“Course I do, I helped them do it!” said George. “You should have seen it coming, mind you, Hermione hates your Cannons pajamas.”

“So…so...” Harry struggled to accept what his friends were telling him at face value. “So...Neville and Pansy got started through...Hermione?”

“Yep,” said Ron. “They started spending time together when Neville and Hermione were working with Draco on that stabilizing potion for Lucius.”

“Um.” said Harry. “Completely ignoring for a second the fact that you are calling Malfoy _Draco_ , I thought he and Pansy were dating?” _Although apparently everything he believed about the world was wrong?_

“ _Merlin,_ no,” Ron chuckled. “They’re like you and Ginny.” He gestured in their general direction with a piece of bacon Ginny hadn’t seen him take. “Friends, roommates, all that. Malfoy’s gay. It’s not like that’s a secret.”

Ginny and Harry stared at each other. “Harry,” said Ginny. “Apparently we have no idea whatsoever what is going on at home anymore.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. _Had they really been away so much? So caught up in their own world?_ Well they had to have been to have missed such a significant shift in their friends’ lives. Come to think of it, when had he last seen Neville? Hell, when had he last spent more than a few seconds with Hermione before one of them had to rush off somewhere? And family dinners were always so chaotic, everyone talking at once about whatever…. And Malfoy was _gay_?

“Okay,” sighed Harry, pouring himself more tea. “You had better start at the beginning.”

  


**Summer 1998 - Summer 1999**

Draco woke with a start, his body immediately complaining from the hard chair where he had fallen asleep. It took him several seconds to remember where he was and why, and then he buried his face in his hands and tried to slow his pulse. The soothing pale green of the walls in the Janus Thickey spell damage ward at St. Mungo’s could do nothing to counteract the vaguely antiseptic smell and claustrophobic feel of too many people with too little privacy. He was grateful for the curtained areas throughout the ward, but saying it was a step down from Malfoy Manor would be a gross understatement. The light was dim through the spelled windows and a quick check of the clock on the wall confirmed it was early morning. Or was it early evening? Honestly he didn’t know anymore.

He stood carefully, stretching his sore back and shoulders, and surveyed the scene before him with a grim resignation. His mother was still asleep, in a chair she had had the sense to transfigure into something more comfortable. And his father… Draco’s breath caught and his eyes prickled. He knew his father on the whole was not...a good man. Had not been a good man. But he had never doubted his father’s love for him. Pride in him. And he had idolized him almost past the point of destruction. He had never imagined that he would see him like this. Helpless, dependent, with no fight left. Dying.

Looking back, he should have known that something was seriously wrong after the incident in the Hall of Prophecy. The Dark Lord had been terrifyingly angry and he had cursed Lucius, apparently permanently. But in front of Draco, his father had made it seem like the situation was salvageable. Like Draco should be proud of the task set to him and what it would mean for the family. And he had spoken so much like he always had, that Draco hadn’t noticed the tremor in his hands, or the haunted look behind his eyes -- but he remembered them now, now that he knew his father had been trying to protect him still, had been trying to keep him blissfully unaware of just how much danger their little family had been in even then. How much danger Draco had been in as he became a good soldier like his father. How much more the danger would have been if he hadn’t fallen in line. He knew later, of course, how wrong things had gone. But he hadn’t even found out about the extent of it himself until the hearing yesterday.

To his surprise, his family hadn’t been expected to stand trial. Harry Potter had apparently spoken on their behalf in a private inquiry, testifying to his and his mother’s motivations and actions. Lucius wasn’t being tried on account of his impending death and the fact that the courts were already overrun. Draco didn’t know how to process the fact that he now owed Harry Potter his own life _and_ his family’s freedom. It was too much. It was too unexpected.

The hearing had been equally unexpected, apparently the result of Potter’s influence as well, at his father’s request. To the dismay of Lucius’ healers, he had asked to leave St. Mungo’s to speak to the full Wizengamot, with his family present. With everyone present. Under the influence of veritaserum. It was more than unexpected -- it was unprecedented. He wanted the world to understand, he said, that his wife and son should not be punished for his crimes and that regardless of his personal beliefs and actions, everything he had done at the end of the war was ultimately to protect his family. This hearing was his last act to protect their future. Draco and everyone else heard the full truth for the first time. And he knew from the hard looks on the faces in the room that it wasn’t enough. His father would always be a villain, and Draco would be too. But he was glad that people had to hear, whether they accepted it or not, that things hadn’t been black and white. Lucius had collapsed at the end as his disapproving healers whisked him swiftly back to St. Mungo’s to try to stabilize him. That had been yesterday, and today there was only exhaustion. As he transfigured his chair to match his mother’s, a trim figure appeared in the doorway.

“I found you a flat,” Pansy said. “Come and get some breakfast with me, alright? I know you’re not going to take care of yourself right now, but I can take care of you.”

In spite of himself, his brain automatically filled in the suggestive banter that was characteristic of their friendship, though he couldn’t make the words leave his mouth. Apparently Pansy saw something in his expression though, and the corners of her eyes crinkled fondly.

“Good. I see you’re still in there somewhere.”

**…………**

“If we’re going to live together, we need to do something about this decor,” said Pansy one evening a few weeks later. They were curled up in opposite corners of the couch in the vast, nearly empty living room while Draco finished his latest round of inquiry letters for potions mastery programs. In her true Slytherin style, Pansy had never asked if she could move in to the flat near St. Mungo’s she had found for Draco and his mother. She had just sort of appeared and never left. Draco didn’t mind. He liked the company and it certainly wasn’t as if the flat wasn’t big enough.

“You can do whatever you want with it,” he said distractedly. Her eyes gleamed.

“Really? Anything?” she said. This got his attention.

“No,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about who was talking to. Ground rules: tasteful, comfortable, nothing like the manor, nothing like Slytherin common room. And exercise restraint appropriate to the knowledge that I almost certainly won’t be able increase the family fortune in the future because everyone hates me and I can’t get a job.”

“Sold,” said Pansy. “And _I_ don’t hate you. But while we’re on the topic of your family fortune, I was over at the manor going through records, and -”

“You went to the _manor_? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is right now? It’s practically covered in curses.”

“I am _well_ aware, your mother said it was fine as long as I went with an auror who owes me a favor. Incidentally, you need to have someone clean out the curses. But I knew you and Narcissa don’t have any interest in the family business right now, and I don’t have anything to do, and I have a reasonably good sense of your holdings now, so… well you know I’m excellent with money, even if I like spending it.”

“This is true,” said Draco. No one had ever gotten away with swindling another student in Slytherin under Pansy’s watchful eye.

“Pansy,” said Draco, suddenly decisive, “Will you run our lives?”

She grinned. “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

**…………**

Draco fell into a sort of routine after that. He studied during the day, sometimes at his father’s bedside in St. Mungo’s and sometimes in their flat, and tried to stay out of Pansy’s way as she decorated their home, his job just to dispense gold to her various vendors. She seemed to know exactly the right balance of sweetness, iron will, and nonspecific threats to get them all to do exactly as she said for the best possible price. As Draco studied for his potions N.E.W.T.s he felt like he was watching her discover her true calling. _There is more than one way to be a Slytherin_ , he thought, and hoped he could make that true for himself. At night Pansy regaled them with tales of her deviousness in their increasingly tasteful and comfortable home, and they tried to coax Narcissa into the occasional smile.

Given the strange situation of the past year, students who felt clear on their career direction and ready to take their N.E.W.Ts had been given the option of taking the test early and forgoing a return to Hogwarts. Draco had taken this opportunity eagerly. He had no desire to face the ridicule and scrutiny he would almost certainly endure back in the castle. It wasn’t lost on him that he had once been the perpetrator of that very type of ridicule. It wasn’t cowardice that prevented him from going back, he told himself, it was that it was so far from his family. Although his father had been placed in a potions-induced sleeping state, he and his mother still went to be with him and talk to him. The healers had said it could be helpful. Once a week they woke him for an hour. It was all they could risk while they continued to look for a more permanent solution. It was the first time their family fortune couldn’t buy them progress.

Late on a rainy winter evening, a rosy-cheeked Pansy was explaining triumphantly how she had finally developed an easy-to-implement layered warding charm, when a sharp rapping on the window froze their conversation. The owl outside had a bright green scroll tied to its leg, and as they unrolled the message Draco already had a sinking feeling what it would say. Lucius had gotten worse.

**…………**

“The curse seems to be...solidifying, for lack of a better word,” the healer told them. “With blood curses like these, things can change so quickly because it’s not localized.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Narcissa asked, helplessly.

“Hard to say, as it’s a unique case,” said the healer. “We’re learning what we can and we have some staff who are working on things from a research perspective, but they have to balance their time with their healer duties. There is one intern who has taken a particular academic interest, she can’t stop a puzzle once she’s started, but the healers have been thinking that the key is really going to lie in herbology and none of them has the expertise or the ability to give it their full attention.”

“I do,” said a soft voice from behind them, before they could reply to the healer. Draco turned to find Neville Longbottom, of all people, stepping out from a curtained area at the other end of the ward. “I’m starting my mastery soon but right now I’m just studying for my N.E.W.T.s, I… I have time.”

“Neville, I didn’t know you were visiting your parents today,” said the bubbly healer. “Draco, the two of you must have been in the same year at Hogwarts, I think?” They both nodded stiffly. “Well, you know then that Neville has _quite_ the reputation in herbology.” Neville’s cheeks pinked, whether at the memory of their association in school or at the compliment, Draco couldn’t tell.

“Honestly if you’re interested, Neville, it might mean real progress. Pomona told me you’re the best she’s seen in years.” Now the blush was definitely from the compliment.

“Neville,” said Draco tightly, “We should go talk privately.”

“Yes, yes, go catch up,” said the healer cheerily, completely oblivious to the tension in the room. “If you decide to work together I’ll make an appointment for you to meet with our enthusiastic intern and she can catch you up on our progress so far.”

**…………**

“ _Granger?”_ exclaimed Malfoy, burying his face in his hands as Neville approached the cafe table with the bushy-haired young woman who was almost certainly the intern who couldn’t resist a puzzle. “ _Merlin,_ this just keeps getting better,” he said into his palms.

“That is most definitely Hermione to you now, ferret,” she said briskly as she sat down across from him. “Or maybe ‘O Great One Whose Forgiveness I Beg For Being A Rotten Arse Forever.’” Neville snorted. Draco glared.

She gestured at his sad, half-eaten meal. “Too good for the food at lowly St. Mungo’s?”

“I most definitely am,” he snapped back. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“Neville, I was under the impression from talking to you that I would be working with a changed man. So far I feel like I’m going to end up hitting him again.”

“I thought healers could do no harm,” said Draco, with some alarm. He remembered that slap all too well.

“I am not a healer yet,” said Hermione sniffily. “Besides, you’re not my patient.”

“Don’t worry mate,” said Neville, eyes leaking with suppressed merriment, “If she hits you hard enough for you to become a patient, she’ll make sure you get the best care.”

The tension broke a little as Draco smirked slightly in spite of himself.

“See?” said Neville. “He’s smiling at his own expense. Never thought I’d see the day. Besides, I never said he was a changed man. I said that we had found that maybe we had more in common than we had realized.”

“Oh?” said Hermione dubiously.

“Yeah,” said Neville. “No one can understand better than I do what it’s like to try to be the person your family wants you to be. It’s a lot of pressure. Not a lot of room to figure out what you want yourself.”

“Sometimes I think I got off easy, mate,” said Draco, warming up in spite of himself. “How long did it take them to figure out what your gran had done to Dawlish when they sent him to get her?”

“Three weeks, and he couldn’t stop itching,” chuckled Neville. “She’s terrifying.”

“Women are terrifying,” said Draco. “You should see Pansy when a contractor tries to revise an estimate.”

They both laughed and Hermione looked at them speculatively.

“Okay,” she said. “As long as you remember that women are terrifying, I think we can work together.”

**…………**

They worked together surprisingly well, and Draco started to feel something like hope. He had always been resentful of Granger’s intellect, making it harder for him to excel in school, to represent the Malfoy name. But now he had only gratitude. She was brilliant. Draco and Neville both brought valuable specific knowledge, but Hermione was the one who saw the connections, the bigger picture. They mostly worked spread out over tables in the cafeteria at St. Mungo’s, but eventually Draco acknowledged this was ridiculous.

“Maybe we should start working somewhere more comfortable,” he said.

Hermione stretched and winced. “I would say we should go to my mum and dad’s, but this is still all a bit new to them. Same goes for Ron, not that we’d be able to spread out much in the flat above the shop.” Ron had joined them for lunch a few times, but it had been uncomfortable. He said he was happy she had found some people to study for N.E.W.T.s with “regardless of who they were” and left it at that. Well, almost. Draco could have sworn he felt a light stinging hex as Ron left.

“That would still be a bit much for _me_ ,” Draco said drily. “He’s just so easy to annoy, I can’t help myself.” Hermione glared and he laughed. “I actually live nearby and we have plenty of room, just let me send ahead to Pansy so she knows we’re coming. Merlin knows what she gets up to when she’s there by herself.” He cast a quick patronus, which soared away before they could see its shape.

“I don’t know, Draco, you’ve seen how it’s been with Ron, I didn’t sign on for Pansy,” said Hermione nervously.

“But you signed on to help my father?” he said. He wasn’t sure this was the moment to bring it up, but it had been on his mind for weeks and it came out before he could stop it.

“Well,” Hermione said somewhat sheepishly, “I didn’t know it was your father when I first saw the medical files. I was just looking through recent patient intakes for interesting cases, and it was the most interesting one I had ever seen, I was so engrossed by the time I realized who it was…” she broke off as she saw a shuttered look take root in Draco’s eyes.

“Oh Draco,” she said, “be fair, you know I couldn’t have been thrilled to help him.”

He sighed. “I know. I know what he did to you. Or...didn’t do for you. But...he’s still my father.”

“I know,” said Hermione kindly. “And he’s a patient like any other. It’s not my place as a healer to decide who deserves care, and that’s a lesson I needed to learn as fast as possible. But I’m glad I’m helping him... for you. For who you are now.”

Something prickled in Draco’s eyes and he looked away. He felt he didn’t deserve their friendship, and knowing that they were his friends despite everything that had come before somehow meant more. He shook himself.

“Well, I think you will find Pansy largely unchanged, although hopefully you’ll...eventually...come to see why I love her so much,” he said.

Neville smiled. “Is it serious then?”

Draco blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You and Pansy, do you reckon she’s the one?”

Draco laughed. “The one to keep me in line, sure, she’s my best friend. But I’m gay, I thought everyone knew.”

Neville choked and Hermione patted him on the back. “I think that was maybe only common knowledge in your house,” she said tactfully, “But it doesn’t change anything for us.”

“Might start talking to you about how fit Neville’s gotten, though,” she said with an exaggerated wink. Draco laughed at the expression on Neville’s face and headed towards home.

**…………**

The three of them passed their N.E.W.T.s almost as an afterthought. Draco thought they probably knew more from the books Pansy had retrieved for their research during her supervised purge and sale of Malfoy Manor than they would be tested on even for a mastery. They had also had a breakthrough, and quickly enough to make a difference for his family.

“The house in France will be ready soon,” said Pansy, coming back into the room with bolts of fabric in her arms. She had taken her interior decorating skills to a new level for the pleasant home in the south of France, integrating magic into the home in ways that would allow Lucius to be self-sufficient when Narcissa wanted to spend time with her nearby family. Draco had been surprised to learn she had even been consulting Professor Flitwick. _Neville’s influence, perhaps?_ As she put down the fabric on the sofa and walked past Neville, Draco thought he saw her fingers brush lightly across Neville’s shoulder as Neville briefly closed his eyes. _There’s something going on there,_ he thought. Last week he had found them asleep on the couch, Pansy’s head resting on Neville’s shoulder. He wondered now if they had fallen asleep that way. It wasn’t like Pansy to be discreet in her interest -- although come to think of it, she hadn’t been. The first thing she’d done when he had brought them home weeks ago was look Neville slowly up and down and say, “Who are _you_ , and what have you done with Neville Longbottom?” He smiled to himself. Neville had certainly changed after the war, and he felt like this new, confident Neville could probably handle his devious best friend. Probably. He didn’t know precisely how they had worked through their chequered past, but that was their business. 

“I think this is as good as it’s going to get,” said Hermione, stoppering the potion and brushing her hair out of her face. “We knew full recovery was too much to hope for, but he’ll be stable enough for home care, walking around.” She grinned. “Not too bad for, what did Healer Smythewick call us? Uppity youngsters?"

 


	2. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My love affair with Pansy and magical houses grew out of this wonderful fic (season 6 of the Potterotica Podcast): https://archiveofourown.org/works/12985506

_**Chapter 2: Changes** _

**Summer 2000 - Spring 2001**

Harry was glad that the Quidditch season had ended (well, the games had, Oliver’s training schedule was as rigorous as ever) so he could spend more time enjoying his home life. This was disorientating at first. He felt like everything had changed around him -- quite literally, since he had bankrolled Hermione’s request to hire an interior decorator for the previously dreary Grimmauld Place. Apparently she knew someone good who specialized in magical houses and could handle de-darking it from some of its nastier remaining pieces. As he padded barefoot down to the kitchen across the polished, honey-colored wood floors and fluffy cream rugs patterned with the subtlest hint of Gryffindor red, he had to admit it actually felt like a home now. He certainly didn’t miss the portrait of Walburga Black, although apparently Hermione had had to bring in Draco for some sort of bloodline heir negotiation for that one. _Draco_ , he thought, Hermione had called him Draco. And he would be at the party on Friday, a shared birthday party for himself and Neville. Draco Malfoy would be in his, Harry Potter’s, house. At Hermione’s request. He really had some catching up to do on his life.

**…………**

“The stunning and fabulous Ms. Parkinson has arrived,” said Harry’s front door, “With the absolutely delectable Mr. Longbottom.” Harry stared at the door in disbelief.

“ _Pansy_ ,” he heard from the other side of the door in a barely audible and clearly mortified whisper, “What if everyone’s _there_ already?”

“Oh, they already know you’re delectable, darling, don’t be coy.” The voice was clearly Pansy’s.

Harry opened the door. “Er,” he said. “The door charm usually just announces names, I don’t know what got into it today.”

“It works how I tell it to work,” said Pansy, sweeping into the foyer and hanging her light summer robes on the hook with easy familiarity as Neville struggled out of his shoes.

“Wait, this is _your_ design?” said Harry. “It’s a really good bit of magic.”

Pansy looked at him quizzically. “The whole house is me, Harry, I do magical houses now. Honestly, I’m in all the magazines. Hermione, need help?” she called, heading for the kitchen.

“She’s in all the magazines,” Neville said with a grin, trotting after her.

**…………**

The room quieted as Pansy dinged a spoon on her crystal glass of wine, some unpronounceable and shockingly expensive vintage that Draco had brought.

“You know I’m not one to be serious at a party,” she said with an exaggerated frown, “So I wanted to start with it so we can all eat cake and get absolutely plastered for the rest of the evening, alright?”

“Hear hear,” said George and Ron. She smiled, but a little nervously, Harry thought.

“I know today is about both our boys,” she gestured at Harry and then at Neville, who was next to her, “but I’m only shagging one of them -”

“Pansy!” Neville exclaimed.

“- so this an extra special gift from me to him,” she continued. She looked down at Neville and her expression softened. “Neville. I never thought someone would bring out my sentimental side.”

“No one did!” called Draco.

“Shut up, Draco, not your show,” Pansy said affectionately.

“This past year has been the best of my life. Because of you, I have learned I can apply my prodigious Slytherin cunning to _worthy_ purposes. Like getting hospital boards to actually move their arses on improvements they’ve been talking about for years.” She met Neville’s sharp intake of breath with a wink.

“A little context for everyone else,” she said, her voice taking a more serious tone. “When Draco’s father was in St. Mungo’s, I spent a great deal of time in the Janus Thickey ward for serious spell damage.”

The feeling in the room sobered.

“As you all know by now, that is somewhere that Neville has spent a great deal of time himself over his life. I found it very difficult to be there with Lucius, and even harder when Neville introduced me to his parents. But I also learned a lot from my time there that helped me design the magic in Lucius and Narcissa’s home that would support them continuously in ways that even the best healers could not.”

“A few months ago I asked Neville if it would be alright with him if I put together some ideas for how the ward could be made nicer and more supportive for its...residents, and present them to the St. Mungo’s board.” She grinned suddenly, a return to her usual Pansy-ish self. “I know, I _asked_ if I could meddle. What has _happened_ to me!” Neville chuckled fondly and reached up to pull her into his lap. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders almost absentmindedly.

“Neville, for your birthday, I have used all my abilities to cajole, manipulate, wear down bureaucracy, and design beautiful things to get St. Mungo’s on board with an actual plan.”

“Now, this is just a mock-up, of course your input on care for your parents and the input of the other families will be incredibly important when making final decisions, but… well, take a look.”

She waved her wand in the air and then paused and cleared her throat. “Full credit to Hermione for assistance with this magical…”

“Video,” Hermione supplied.

A light shimmered in the center of the room and then expanded to be an image hovering in mid-air in front of Pansy and Neville. Pansy took Neville’s hand as her own voice filled the room, recorded as part of the video, explaining what they were seeing as it played.

It was a tour, Harry realized, of some sort of physical blueprint. The look was very realistic. It started in what was clearly the hallway at St. Mungo’s before focusing on an unobtrusive door plaque that said _The Parkinson-Longbottom Residential Wing_ . The door opened and the camera moved into a beautiful round room, with comfortable squashy couches and tall, spelled windows with dappled light filtering through. The colors were light and pleasant, creams and greens and pale wood. There was a small kitchen and a coffee station, and a slight occasional vibration or flicker as the Pansy in the video walked through the many, many embedded spells. The wall around the lounge was ringed with doors, each with an individual name plate. Pansy walked up to one labeled _Longbottom._ “I see every resident’s room being personalized,” said Pansy’s disembodied voice, “with help from their families, so this is just a very basic idea right now.”

A hand opened the door and the video entered a calming, pale gold sitting room with a tidy bathroom visible through an adjacent door. More light streamed in from a round, spelled window, and Harry saw it was furnished similarly to the lounge, but with comfortable burgundy chairs and poufs. “Gryffindor colors for your parents, of course,” Pansy’s voice said.

Tears were running down Neville’s cheeks and his arms tightened around Pansy. His face was tucked against her shoulder while she stroked his hair soothingly. Harry felt his own eyes start to prickle. It was incredible that Pansy had actually been able to move this towards reality. He looked around the room and saw brightness in everyone’s eyes -- including, to his surprise, Draco’s.

The video continued through another doorway into a bedroom lined with bookshelves and occupied by two comfortable-looking beds. The far wall was blank and shimmered faintly. “This is a mock-up of my latest charms project,” said Pansy’s voice. “And a lot of the credit goes to Hermione. It’s a remembrance wall. Healers can choose what it shows based on what they think the patient needs.” A fingertip reached out and touched the wall, which suddenly showed a calm forest path. A second touch and it showed white sand and lapping waves. A third touch and it showed Neville asleep on a sofa, his head in Pansy’s lap while she stroked his hair with as much love on her face as was shining through now.

The video faded. Everyone seemed speechless. Harry realized he was holding his breath and he let it out shakily. His heart ached with joy to see the love his old friend, the worthiest among them, had found. Neville had been so often overlooked and underestimated. However unexpected it was, it seemed this complicated woman knew exactly what she had found in him. His heart ached again with a little pang of longing for the same for himself.

“Pansy,” Neville said quietly, breaking the silence. “I have something for you, too.”

She smiled down at him. “It’s not my birthday, Neville,” she said, softly teasing.

“It’s not a birthday present,” he said seriously, not taking his eyes from hers as he unwrapped an arm from around her waist to fumble in his robes for what turned out to be a small box. Pansy’s eyes were bright now as he opened it and looked up at her. She nodded wordlessly and as he slipped the ring onto her finger he pulled her in for a kiss so intense it sent a ripple of magic through the room.

After a few heated moments someone wolf-whistled (Ginny?) and the room erupted in cheers.

**…………**

The party was in full swing. Neville had summoned around of celebratory champagne for everyone, which had seemingly refilled itself as birthday toasts began and Harry and Neville received small gifts from their friends, some thoughtful, some ridiculous, and one that had temporarily turned Neville into a large, pink rabbit. Harry was feeling pleasantly buzzed as he wandered into the kitchen to put his gift from Pansy and Neville on the windowsill. They had given him a delicate, citrusy-smelling plant with an _aguamenti_ charm integrated into the pot so he “couldn’t inevitably kill it,” as Pansy had said. Neville said its scent would bring him wakefulness and energy in the morning. As Harry surveyed the potluck offerings on the kitchen island, he considered it wouldn’t be a bad idea to eat some real food to balance out his alcohol.

He was searching around for a plate when an all-too-familiar drawling voice behind him said, “Second cabinet on the right from the sink, Potter. Are you sure you live here?”

Harry bristled, more so when it turned out Draco was right about the plate location. “I’m not home very often, I’m very busy with Quidditch,” he said defensively, turning to make sure Draco couldn’t hex him from behind. He didn’t care how much Hermione supposedly got on with him. He didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. Which wouldn’t be very far these days, he realized. He could see the light outlines of new musculature under Draco’s tailored button-down and trim grey trousers.

“And busy with...other things, I hear,” said Draco with a suggestive smirk, leaning casually on the edge of the kitchen island, opposite from but somehow still too close to Harry. “I never thought I’d say this but congratulations, Potter, Oliver Wood is a _very_ fit bloke.”

“Well he’s available if you want him,” said Harry carelessly. “We broke up last week.”

A series of expressions flitted across Draco’s face, which settled on scorn.

“I don’t need your hand-me-downs, _Potter_ , I do perfectly fine on my own.”

Harry couldn’t believe this. He just wanted a snack. How could Draco look so comfortable in _his_ kitchen? How often had he been here when Harry hadn’t, if he knew where the dishes were kept? Harry certainly wasn’t comfortable at the moment. He felt the old desire to rattle his nemesis rise up inside him, but this new Draco, who had moments ago been teary with happiness for his friend and now seemed the same smug prat he’d always been, was a total unknown. What would make him uncomfortable? He took a chance.

Letting some heat rise in his expression he looked at Draco and smiled slowly. “I imagine you do _very_ _well_ on your own,” he said. Draco’s cheeks went pink and his eyes went wide. Harry felt a thrill of victory. And then Draco’s eyes sparkled with mischief and Harry realized with a panicked flutter that he might have sorely miscalculated.

“So what ended things, Potter,” Draco said in an almost-purr, starting to advance slowly around the island towards Harry. “Was _Wood_ not meeting your needs?” Harry gulped and walked backwards. This was not going his way at all.

“I’m not surprised,” said Draco quietly. “Gryffindors are all rush and no subtlety. Now Slytherins…. We can figure out what. Makes. People. Scream.” Harry was backed against the counter as Draco punctuated each word with a step. Draco’s chest barely pressed against his, and Harry’s breathing was shallow and quick. He imagined he could feel heat radiating off of the lean body so close to his and his brain whirled. In the past he would have said those words were a threat, but Draco’s expression made him quite sure he meant something else entirely. Harry bolted.

As he left the kitchen he heard an uproarious laugh behind him.

Point, Draco.

**…………**

Draco stood in the kitchen for a long moment, blood pounding and half hard. Two years of Quidditch had been very good to Harry Potter. The reedy, underfed look of his school days was gone and it had been all he could do when he had Harry backed against the counter not to run a hand up that muscular chest. It had started as a joke, beating Harry at his own game, which Draco realized he’d been sorely missing. He hadn’t expected Harry’s appealing blush and dilated pupils. There was no question they were attracted to each other.

 _Physically_ , Draco amended. They were attracted to each other _physically_ . Other than that, he was still _Potter_ , _The Git Who Lived_. This new piece of information would just be one more weapon in Draco’s arsenal as he carried on the battle of wills that had started that day so long ago now on the Hogwarts Express. He had come to be very fond of Hermione. She had helped save his undeserving father, been nice to undeserving Draco, and was devilishly clever in all sorts of unexpected ways. But Potter. Potter would always be fair game.

Breathing steadied, he left the kitchen to be met with a roar from the living room. “I challenge you to combat!” shouted Ron, brandishing a tumbler of firewhiskey. Draco grinned. It had become commonplace for their group to test out new merchandise for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and the last several weeks they had been trying a new, highly complicated version of Wizard Chess. Draco had always been dubious of Hermione and Ron’s relationship, despite their obvious love for each other, until he had sat down across from Ron at a chessboard. Underneath that oafish exterior was a very talented tactician.

Draco had never lost a game among peers before, but Ron had won four out of their seven games. He didn’t fully understand why Ron hid his talent, but had come to suspect Ron wasn’t really aware that he did. Or aware that he had any talent. Draco was an only child and had always had his accomplishments praised and flaunted. Ron, being one of so many, the fiance of a brilliant witch, and the best friend of a very famous wizard, just wasn’t used to being thought of as anything special. Draco would never underestimate him again. After his resounding loss in their first game he had, by the terms of their bet, gone into work for a week with violently red hair. Ron knew just how to hit him where it hurt.

“I accept your challenge, knave!” he said dramatically. “What shall the loser forfeit?”

“You won last time,” said Ron, “So you set the terms.”

Draco made a show of pondering. Then he sighed and said, “Loser snogs Potter.”

The room burst out in laughter and Draco kept his eyes on Harry, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Is this….a typical wager?” said Harry faintly.

“Oh yeah,” said Ron, “Special treat for whoever’s been out of town. Last week it was Luna.”

“It was a very nice kiss, Ronald,” said Luna in her breezy voice, smiling from the back. “If not as enthusiastic as I would have hoped for.” Hermione pushed her lightly on the shoulder but didn’t look upset.

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Luna said consolingly. “I’m sure he’ll become more passionate over time. You might check under your bed for wiffledings, though.” Ron snorted and Hermione looked exasperated.

“So...why not Ginny? We’ve both been out of town,” Harry persisted.

“She’s my sister, mate,” said Ron, “Can you imagine if I lost? Family’s off-limits. Besides, you’re the birthday boy!” He waggled his eyebrows. “Cheer up, Harry, Draco’s beat me the last two times.”

Harry did not look as if this cheered him.

**…………**

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said bracingly. “Ron is a very good kisser.” Her lips twitched in spite of herself and then she burst out laughing.

“It’s not Ron I’m worried about,” said Harry through gritted teeth.

Hermione looked appraisingly over at the two men hunched competitively over the chessboard. “To be fair, I’m sure Draco is a very good kisser too. You could ask Katie, she had him a few weeks ago when she got back from that broomstick conference. Looked enjoyable.”

“Not helping!” Harry clapped his hands over his ears.

Hermione smiled and pried them off. “Silly wager aside, Draco isn’t so bad now once you get to know him.”

Harry looked dubious and Hermione looked at him sidelong. “You know, he’s the major donor on Pansy’s new wing in St. Mungo’s.”

Harry knew the shock of surprise he felt also showed on his face. “But it’s called the Parkinson-Longbottom wing, not the Malfoy wing. If he’s the major donor, shouldn’t his name be all over it?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” said Hermione. “Pansy certainly tried to talk him into it, something about rehabilitating his reputation. But he refused point-blank. He said it was her gift to Neville and should be the first thing to have both of their names on it together. Terribly romantic,” she said with a slightly misty look on her face. Harry nearly choked.

“Sure, it also doesn’t sound anything like Malfoy,” he said.

“Don’t write him off, Harry,” Hermione said. “If I can find a way to like him, I’m sure you’ll ultimately come to…tolerate...him. There’s more to Slytherins sometimes than meets the eye. Certainly they prefer to...get what they want…and sometimes their methods are a bit questionable, but when it comes to the people they care about, they’re as loyal as Hufflepuffs.”

Harry had a sudden flash of Draco’s pained face looking earnestly into his own after his father’s hearing, and said nothing for a long moment.

“How did _you_ come to like him?” he said, finally. Draco and Hermione were the most unlikely friendship he could think of. Well, other than Pansy and Neville, and they were getting married, so...

“Intellect,” said Hermione primly. “We were always so busy competing against each other in school that we never had a chance to appreciate what we could learn from each other. He’s a brilliant potioneer, you know.”

“We published our work on the stabilizing solution that contained the curse in his father and someone finally saw his potential. He’s a potions apprentice contracted to the auror office now. They seem to think he’s an expert in handling particularly nasty bits of dark magic, which of course he is. Couldn’t get a job before,” she said, frowning.

“Why not, if he’s so _brilliant_?”

“No one would take him in their mastery program. Every letter he got back said the same thing, that despite his N.E.W.T. scores he wasn’t a good fit. We all knew it was because of his Mark. If you had seen him then, Harry, you’d think differently of him. It was a very...vulnerable time. Honestly it’s good to see him poking fun at you and Ron, more like his old self.”

The memory of Draco’s earnest moment in the ministry was suddenly replaced by the more heated memory of his encounter just now with Draco in the kitchen.

“I, for one, do not miss his old self,” said Harry, huffily.

“Oh of course you do, Harry,” she said patronizingly. “You spent half your time in school obsessing over him and what he was up to and how to get him back for things. Draco Malfoy was practically your hobby.”

This was so obviously wrong that Harry just scowled at her and turned to talk to Luna.

**…………**

It was an interesting evening. In an attempt to divert himself from the outcome of the chess match, Harry focused on catching up with his friends. He heard about Luna’s adventures cataloguing fantastical creatures and the new magic she was using to track and lure them. He heard about George’s latest product lines at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes which were currently about security, keying spells and objects to activate only in response to specific individuals’ magical signatures or specific phrases. “Inspired by our favorite Marauders,” he said with a gentle smile. The thought still gave Harry a pang.

Dean and Seamus had gone right into Auror training, and they had seemingly endless stories of daring duels and tricky bits of magic they’d had to untangle. Angelina and Katie were working at quality Quidditch supply and talked extensively about broom charms, one of the most interesting conversations of the evening by far. Harry already knew Pansy had been experimenting with more magical integration into homes, as evidenced by his own house and her present for Neville, even though he didn’t get a chance to talk with her one-on-one.

And all the while, Draco and Ron played chess and the group whooped around them. The game seemed to have very elaborate additional rules involving drinks, spellwork, and their spectators. At one point they switched sides of the board. At another they tagged in others to play for them like a relay. Everyone participating seemed to know perfectly well what was going on. He wondered how many times they had played. As he watched people meander about his house, finding specific books with ease, activating a refilling charm he didn’t know his house had, and going in and out of the kitchen with various items he didn’t think he’d even seen before, he felt a growing sense of disconnection. And then his eyes met Ginny’s and he saw it there, too. He looked at her beseechingly and she came to sit beside him.

“We don’t fit in anymore,” said Harry.

“Nonsense,” said Ginny. “We’ll get back up to speed. I’ll admit, though, I feel a little out of my element too. It’s like…”

“Like being a guest in my own house,” said Harry sourly.

They sat quietly for a minute, taking in the homey scene in front of them.

“Have you ever thought about quitting the team?” said Ginny, suddenly.

Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but then he thought about the domestic scene before him and the conversations he’d had that evening. “Not until now, no, but...every conversation I’ve had tonight, I’ve heard about all of the interesting things people are doing, all of the interesting _magic_. Gin, when was the last time we used our wands for anything but the most basic spells?”

She frowned. “We use magic all the time! Quidditch is a magical game.”

“We use magical _objects_ all the time,” said Harry. “But we aren’t really doing magic at all, not for anything complicated. I hadn’t realized it until now. Seems a bit of a waste for someone who can cast such a marvelous bat bogey hex,” he grinned and nudged her shoulder.

“You don’t know the _half_ of what I can do,” said Ginny.

“Yeah…,” said Harry. “That’s kind of what I’m realizing.”

Their conversation was cut off by a commotion at the end of the room, shouts and jeers signaling some sort of change in the game.

“Potter!” Malfoy was standing by the chess board, gaze fixed on Harry, his king still being dragged off violently by Ron’s queen. “I lost.”

“Don’t lose points on enthusiasm this time!” Luna called.

“Don’t worry,” Draco said, the look on his face positively predatory. Harry swallowed hard. “I won’t.”

**…………**

Harry didn’t know what to expect from the kiss. He tried to tell himself that his heart was pounding in annoyance but there was anticipation there, too. Draco’s behavior in the kitchen had set off a cascade of scenarios in his head that were flitting through again as Draco walked towards him. The scenarios were all too similar to some confusing dreams he had had back in his school days, which flooded in eagerly in response to Draco now, handsome and smooth and fit and slightly disheveled from the game and...right in front of him.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco said so that only Harry could hear. Harry’s blood heated at the challenge.

“Such a high opinion of yourself, Malfoy,” muttered Harry.

“We’ll see,” Malfoy replied. Louder so everyone could hear, he said, “Alright Potter, birthday boy chooses. What house do you want?”

“What?” replied Harry.

“Different houses, different styles, mate,” said Ron. “If Luna wanted more enthusiasm last week she should have asked for Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw. I had to be _thoughtful._ ” He stuck his tongue out in mock disgust.

“Better go with Hufflepuff, Potter,” said Draco. “Nice and chaste, quick peck.” A sound of indignation came from where Harry knew Hannah and Ernie were sitting. “No risk of falling in love with me on the spot.”

“I guarantee there is no risk of that, Malfoy,” Harry spat.

“Then pick whatever house you want,” said Draco.

“ _Slytherin._ ”

And Draco’s lips closed on his.

The kiss was gentle at first, Draco’s lips soft and warm, deepening slowly as Draco moved against him. He felt the flicker of tongue against his lips and it was so enticing, so forbidden, that his mouth opened slightly...and then he was being devoured, Draco’s tongue snaking against his then pulling out as Draco bit his bottom lip before a chime sounded in the air and Draco broke away suddenly, grinning and flushed. Harry almost moaned at the loss of his lips and then remembered where he was and tried to compose himself.

“Ten second limit, Potter,” Draco said breathlessly as everyone whooped.

“Blimey, Harry,” he heard Katie say as if from far away. “Now I know to ask for Slytherin.”

As the group sang Happy Birthday to him and Neville, Ginny brought Harry a piece of cake. “ _Well_ then,” she said in his ear.

“I don’t want to hear it, _Ginevra_ ,” he snapped back.

**…………**

When Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley had requested an appointment with him, Kingsley had not expected them to submit their applications for the auror training program starting in the fall. He wasn’t sure what he _had_ expected, but for two meteorically rising Quidditch stars to walk away from the sport at the end of only two seasons to pursue a career in law enforcement wasn’t….typical. _Though I don’t think anyone would ever try to describe those two as typical,_ he thought.

It had been a long conversation, and Kingsley asked them to think about it before they decided. Many dreamy young future aurors burned out of the program quickly when they realized how hard they had to train and how rarely they would be in serious combat. Harry explained that he thought that might suit him, “having seen rather enough combat already.” Ginny was noncommittal on this count, and Kingsley reflected on what he had heard of her temper -- but those reports had also revealed that she was clearly a very powerful witch, which was confirmed by her performance in the battery of basic defensive tests they both completed as part of their interview. He thought with training she would be formidable, maybe the strongest in his department. Their shared desire to really use their magic also fundamentally made sense to him; playing a magical sport was very different from using a wand. As the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now, he felt the loss himself sometimes as he processed paperwork and took meetings instead of working in the field. Although he asked them to think further about what they were signing on for, he knew they had already thought about it and what their answer would ultimately be.

The question now was: how would they react when they found out who else was in their class?

  



	3. Partners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you visit the Isle of Skye, Harry and Draco are staying at The Bosville Hotel and eating at Dulse and Brose, where the food is almost as good as the island ferry is bad.

_**Chapter 3: Partners** _

**Summer 2001 - Fall 2001**

Draco was strapping on his shield vest for the first day of training when Ron walked in.

“Are you sure you’re serious enough for Auror training, _Weasley?_ Can’t even be bothered to arrive on time? _”_ Draco sneered without looking up.

“What, you’re saying because I work in a joke shop I can’t be serious?” said Ron, grinning.

Draco laughed and tossed him a vest. “Thought for a moment you were going to leave me stranded,” he said.

“Nah,” said Ron. “Can’t imagine the sort of trouble you’d get in without me keeping an eye on you.”

“I’m glad we’re really doing this,” he added. “Feels good to be starting something on my own. Make a real difference, you know?”

Draco did know. He was proud of them for actually approaching Kingsley. Their collaboration when Draco had been called out to Ron’s shop as a potions consultant in a case of illegal tampering had gone surprisingly well, and their uneasy detente had become an easier friendship. Helped along by Hermione, of course, and a lot of chess. They had found common ground over their shared feeling of having something to prove -- Draco to step out from under the shadow of his family history, and Ron to step out from under the shadow of, well, everyone. And if it all went horribly wrong…no one other than Hermione knew they were even attempting the program. George thought Ron was on loan to the auror department for two weeks. They could just go back to their jobs as if nothing had happened, no shame, knowing they had tried.

As quickly as those thoughts flitted through Draco’s head, they vanished in a puff of shock when Harry Potter walked in. Apparently he and Ron weren’t the only people keeping their plans a secret.

Harry’s face lit up at the sight of Ron, stretching in a huge grin that faltered when it was not returned. Ron was slowly turning red...burgundy...purple. Draco felt a pang for his new friend, then a further pang of discomfort that he was feeling pangs of anything for Ron Weasley, and _Merlin, this is what came from spending too much time with too many sodding Gryffindors._ A flash of the old malice rose within him. Forget that in his training uniform Harry looked utterly shaggable.

“I hate to break it to you, _Potter_ , but you aren’t actually an _essential ingredient_ for catching dark wizards,” Draco snarled. “Not that I imagine you remember how to hold a wand after so many years of holding a broom.”

Harry’s eyes snapped dangerously, but Draco wasn’t done.

“Run along and play with your snitches and leave the hard work to the _real_ wizards.”

Draco was ready for a curse from Potter, but he had hardly noticed Ginny coming in behind him. Her shaving hex blazed past his scalp before he could react, and he shrieked in rage when he saw a shock of white-blond hair hit the floor. Firing back, he went straight for Harry, who dodged but not fast enough. One of his arms turned to gold.

“Oi!” He yelled. “I saved your _LIFE!_ ”

“As if I can forget, _golden boy_ ,”  Draco sneered. They were just raising their wands again when Ron finally snapped.

“CAN’T. I. BLOODY. WELL. HAVE. ANYTHING. THAT. IS. MINE!” a concussive wave from his wand knocked all of them back as he stalked from the room, brushing past the just-arriving Kingsley with a mumbled “Sir.”

The head auror wordlessly surveyed the scene: Draco partially shaved, Harry partially gold, Ginny completely furious.

“Not a promising start,” he said in his slow, deep voice.

Draco cleared his throat. “Permission to go talk to my partner?”

“Granted,” Kingsley said with a sigh. “Today is clearly a waste. Report here at the same time tomorrow. ALL of you.”

Draco fled the room, hastily casting charms under his breath to try to regrow his hair and planning quickly. He would need his chess set, and a bottle of firewhiskey. Apparently, it was up to _Draco Malfoy_ to remind _Ron Weasley_ _of all bloody people_ of all the reasons he wanted to be an auror that had nothing to do with Harry Potter.

**…………**

“We have another Murdoch house,” Seamus said, flopping down in the chair across from Kingsley.

The head auror bit back an unprofessional groan. These were the new bane of his existence. Well, other than his trainees. The Murdochs were a very old wizarding family who no one had seen much of for the last 40 years or so. This turned out to be because the sole remaining heir was apparently spending all of his considerable free time and fortune creating elaborately booby-trapped houses, for reasons best known entirely to himself. The houses had become property of the ministry upon his death a few months ago, to everyone’s increasing chagrin. A new one seemed to activate every few weeks.

“Any chance of leaving it be?” Kingsley said.

“I wish,” said Seamus, “but it’s not in a wizarding area. Muggle developers are poking around. Apparently our warning signs weren’t convincing enough -- someone tried to get in yesterday and he’s in St. Mungo’s now. Right mess for the obliviators.”

“Well it’s more trouble than it’s worth to permanently ward it, so I suppose I’ll have to send in a team. I can’t imagine anyone is particularly eager?” Kingsley said.

“ _Merlin,_ no,” said Seamus emphatically. “I had to _incendio_ my robes after the last one, and Cassie still smells burned toast all day on Tuesdays. If you’re open to a suggestion…”

“Go ahead,” said Kingsley.

“The Murdoch houses aren’t dangerous, just a pain in the arse. I thought it might be a good…training opportunity.” Seamus blushed a little guiltily.

“Everyone knows the new class is giving you trouble, sir,” he said in a rush. “Might not be bad to let them all...have it out...once and for all.”

Seamus wasn’t wrong about the trouble. Harry and Ginny, as well as Draco and Ron, had ultimately worked marvelously as partners during training. But as soon as they had gotten in the field, it had all fallen apart. Harry and Ginny kept getting injured. They were all power and no patience, often casting aside carefully laid plans to rush in on “instinct.” To make matters worse, unless they were actively disguised, they tended to attract too much attention -- not because Potter had defeated Voldemort, but because they were both _famous Quidditch players_ , of all the idiotic things. Kingsley nearly rolled his eyes at the thought.

Draco and Ron had been equally challenged. Far from getting injured too often, they were regularly failing to apprehend their suspects. The desire to prove themselves that had led them to Kingsley in the first place had turned into a dangerous streak of competition -- not to be first through the door, but to concoct the cleverest and most elaborate plan, which too often turned out to be _slow._ Also in contrast to the other pair, Draco and Ron had trouble being taken seriously. No one wanted to talk to the former Death Eater, and Ron couldn’t shield him with any sort of real celebrity status.

Kingsley was considering a shake-up of the partnerships. The existing skill sets just weren’t complementary. Harry and Ginny each needed to work with a tactician. Draco and Ron each needed someone who would push them to act. Merlin knew he couldn’t pair Harry with Ron; it had been clear from day one that Ron needed a chance to shine on his own. And Draco needed support with clout. But he was also sure that the shake-up he was considering would be a new level of disaster. It would help to see all four of them together before he decided.

“Trial by fire?” Kingsley said grimly.

“Trial by fire,” said Seamus with a grin.

Six extremely messy hours later, he gave his four young, battered, slime-covered trainees their new marching orders. It had been a particularly interactive house, it turned out. But really, _how_ had Ginny damaged her vest?

**…………**

At first, the new partnerships didn’t seem to be much better, although Kingsley was gratified that at least their skill sets in the field seemed more complementary. About a month in, things finally shifted.

After one particularly blazing row in the training rooms, Ginny had thrown a broom at Ron and said, “You. Me. Outside. Now.” Grabbing a broom herself, she had stalked furiously out followed by an equally furious brother. Two hours later they staggered back in, Ron limping but satisfied looking, and Ginny looking like she had been drowned in the lake. No one ever knew exactly what had happened, but their partnership fell into an easy rhythm based on grudging respect.

Around the same time, to everyone’s surprise including, apparently, Draco’s, he had pushed Harry out of the way of a particularly nasty curse that had hit him instead. He ended up in St. Mungo’s for two days. Harry couldn’t be pried away from his bedside even though Draco slept most of the time, and when Kingsley had gone by to check on the young trainee, he had seen Harry sitting there with his head in his hands, Narcissa rubbing his back soothingly. _Times change,_ thought Kingsley, _and for the better._

They still gave Kingsley endless headaches with their bickering, passive aggressive baiting, and what seemed to be an informal contest to best each other (he would never forget the day he had found Draco encased in green, lime-scented gel in the auror showers), but their tone had shifted from spiteful to almost playful. If that was the outlet they needed, so be it. Kingsley sometimes caught one of them gazing at the other surreptitiously from across the room, and he wondered…

 

**Fall 2002**

“Harry?”

Through his groggy, half-awake state, Harry could hear the familiar drawl he knew was coming from the fireplace in the small sitting room outside his bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

“Mmmmnot awake,” he mumbled back.

“Are you decent?” Draco’s voice called again.

“No!” Harry yelled back.

“Good, I’m coming through,” he heard Draco say. He had barely a moment to frantically pull on a shirt before Draco stalked into his bedroom, brushing soot off his shoulder and looking far more awake and far more put together than anyone had the right to at this time of day.

Draco flopped onto the end of the bed and handed Harry a muffin and a cup of coffee.

“You know the way to my heart,” said Harry sleepily.

“I should hope so,” said Draco. “Do you know what today is?”

“Yet another day when you wake me up too early with your horrible cheer?”

“No, it’s our one-year anniversary of being partners,” said Draco.

Harry smiled in spite of himself. “I bet no one thought we’d go a year without killing each other,” he said.

“There’s still time,” said Draco, snatching the muffin out of Harry’s hand and standing up quickly.

“Hey!” Harry said indignantly. “I thought you brought that for me!”

“Well, you should have eaten it faster,” said Draco, smirking. “Mmm, smells like someone’s made bacon.” And he wandered out of the room.

Harry slumped against the pillows, nursing his coffee and feeling both crabby and pleased. It had been a good year.

**…………**

“What is that heavenly smell?” said Draco, practically sniffing the air as he walked into the office he shared with Harry. His legendary sweet tooth hadn’t abated in the slightest since his school days.

“Donuts for our partner anniversaries!” said Ron exuberantly.

Draco gave him a blank look, then gave up and turned it on Ginny.

“Ron is on a muggle law enforcement TV kick,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes from where she sat perched on the edge of Harry’s desk, a large box of sugary confections open next to her. “Apparently the apple doesn’t fall as far from the parental tree as we could have hoped. I still can't believe donuts aren't a thing in the wizarding world, though,” she said before making a blissful noise as she bit into one that cracked with glaze.

“Hey, Dad’s still weird,” said Ron, his words barely comprehensible around a large bite of dough, puffing out powdered sugar like dragon smoke. “Plenty of wizards watch muggle TV now. I don’t know anyone else who collects plugs.”

“I couldn’t care less about your interests, Ronald,” said Draco, “Unless they are to tell me about what you are eating at this moment.”

“There’s a long-running joke about muggle police liking donuts,” said Harry, leaning forward to peruse the offerings of the box. “ _You’re_ definitely going to like them, it’s just dough covered in sugar and filled with more sugar and sometimes also frosted with sugar.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Potter,” Draco purred, prowling towards the desk. He heard Ron make a choking sound and ignored him. He was still deciding which one he wanted when Harry made his selection, a particularly plump looking donut with a chocolate frosting topping. _Blast._ Draco had wanted that one, of course.

A few moments later, he heard a squawk from Harry’s general direction and both Ginny and Ron burst into laughter. He looked up to see Harry, partially eaten donut in hand, covered in pastry cream on his chin and chest. Apparently the plump donut had been excessively cream-filled. He knew he’d be expected to join in the laughter but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight. Something inside his brain seemed to have shorted out and he suspected his mouth was hanging open. Ginny and Ron were still in hysterics and hadn’t noticed, but Harry had. Their eyes locked as Harry flicked his tongue out to slowly, suggestively, scoop some of the cream into his mouth. Draco felt himself flush and his blood started to rush somewhere that was definitely not workplace-appropriate. He hastily looked back down at the box, trying to reign in the surge of lust. _One year without killing each other, his arse._ This job was going to be the death of him after all.

**…………**

“I can’t believe we have to take that,” Draco gestured at the file in front of him with inexpressible dismay, “... _muggle conveyance_.” He was sitting on his desk casually with their case files spread out around them. Leaning back with his long legs stretched out and his white-blond hair slightly rumpled from running his hands through it, he looked so handsome Harry’s eyes hurt.

Harry sighed from across the small office they shared and hoped it sounded like a sigh of exasperation rather than longing. “Well since the smuggling operation is _on_ the _muggle conveyance_ , we can’t very well avoid it. Besides, it takes us out to the Isle of Skye, it’s supposed to be nice.”

“Why is it called a ferry?” said Draco.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” said Harry, trying to focus. In addition to being distractingly good-looking, after a year of acclimation Draco-his-partner had become downright chatty. Harry had gotten practically nothing done today, and they were leaving on the trip tomorrow.

“Aren’t you supposed to be our muggle expert?” Draco whined.

“No, I’m the expert on getting things bloody done, apparently. Aren’t you supposed to be our _tactical_ expert?”

“Yes, my _tactic_ right now is to make you do this work so I don’t have to.”

“Malfoy, if you say one more word right now, I’ll-”

“You’ll _what, Potter_.”

Harry’s hex hit him before he could even reach for his wand. The black ropes twined around him from shoulders to ankles and he huffed in indignation as Harry walked towards him. Approaching as close as he could to his bound partner, Harry grabbed his necktie and pulled Draco’s face forward, their noses nearly touching.

“I’ll shut you up,” said Harry roughly.

Harry’s heart was pounding to be so close again, over a year since that unforgettable birthday party, to those lips he knew were soft and warm. As if in response to his thoughts, Draco’s lips parted slightly and his eyes fluttered closed. Harry blinked. _Did Draco think he was going to…_ he pushed the flicker of hopeful thoughts aside and went with his original plan. He stuffed Draco’s necktie into his mouth and walked away laughing. Time for coffee.

Draco spat out the tie and shouted after him, “I’ll get you back for this!”

“What are you going to do,” said Harry from the doorframe. “ _Hop_ after me?”

He closed the door on his seething partner and headed for the break room. The charm would wear off in ten minutes or so. He knew Draco would get him back, and he was looking forward to it. Anything with Draco was the best part of his day.

Point, Harry.

**…………**

“I will not get back on that death trap,” said Draco, practically digging in his heels on the tiny ferry dock. “That was one of the worst experiences of my _life."_

Harry rolled his eyes. “Dramatic, much? I can think of at least fifteen ways that isn’t true off the top of my head. Not to mention that it was much worse for _me._ ”

Draco glowered. “That doesn’t change the fact that you cannot make me set foot on that _ferry_ ,” he practically spat, “ _ever again._ ”

Draco knew Harry felt compelled to be contrary by default, but he also knew he had no fight left in him. The rickety ferry had been a perfect storm of grime-caked windows, fume-filled air, and drizzle when they had finally given up on breathing inside and simply stood huddled on deck, their collars turned up, relying heavily on a warming charm hastily cast when no muggles were looking. To make matters worse, it had been an almost depressingly simple case. Even a cursory search revealed the illegal potions stores, and there was only one other wizard on the boat. They put a tracer on him, sent a message to Kingsley so he could be tracked to the supplier when he returned to London, and spent the rest of the ride complaining about not having any good duels lately. Until Harry had vomited over the side of the boat, that is.

That was the last straw for Draco, who started making plans to stay the night in the town of Portree as he blocked Harry from view so he could cast a cleaning charm for his mouth. After their brief spat on the pier, they piled into a taxi and rode to the quaint harbor town in sullen silence while Draco focused his attention on their basic needs. Food. Shelter. Sleep.

**…………**

“We’re eating here,” said Draco decisively.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit...fancy?” said Harry.

“Just because there are candles on the tables doesn’t mean we need _dress robes_ , Harry. We’ve had a bloody awful day and this is the best restaurant in town. We’re eating here. And we’re staying here, too, this is the only hotel I can tolerate.”

Harry sighed. Draco had an almost uncanny ability to find the poshest place in any town, not that Harry really minded. It turned out it was nice to stay in nice places. Draco had marched almost magnetically up to the tidy brown inn that looked like it had once been several buildings. When they walked in Harry was unsurprised to find a modern, fashionable little lobby. Despite the off season there was only one available room (apparently they were doing renovations) which Draco booked without hesitation.

“Um, two beds?” said Harry to the receptionist. She quirked an eyebrow. “Yes, two beds,” she replied. Harry let out a sigh of relief and Draco elbowed him in the ribs.

“Your loss,” he said, and Harry’s insides lurched as Draco breezed ahead of him into the restaurant. The dark wood tables were adorned with small vases containing thistles, and, as Draco had noticed from outside, glowing candles. They were the only people there, unsurprisingly.

Draco slid into a booth and as Harry went to take the chair across the table, Draco said, “It’s considered polite in the highlands when there are only two people at a table to sit next to each other. That’s why it’s set up this way with the booth on one side and the chair on the other.”

“Really? I’ve never heard that,” said Harry.

“And how often have you dined out in the highlands?” said Draco archly.

Harry pushed the chair back in and slid into the booth next to Draco, who promptly put his arm over his shoulders. It felt nice, and Harry leaned in slightly in spite of himself.

A waitress approached with menus. “If ye insist on sharin’ tha same side a tha table, ye’ll hafta share everythin’,” she said cheekily, and left one menu.

Harry heard a stifled snicker from next to him. Blushing furiously, he pushed Draco away and stalked to the chair.

“Point, _me_ ,” said Draco with a smirk. “And her. Now, what shall _we_ order?”

**…………**

The room was spartan but clean, with crisp grey-painted paneling and wooly dark orange blankets folded at the bottom of the equally crisp, equally grey beds. The effect was quite pleasant and Draco thought of inquiring about purchasing one of the blankets as a… _as a reminder of this time with Harry._ He nearly rolled his eyes at the realization. _Merlin, when had he become such a Hufflepuff?_

There were in fact two beds, but one was considerably larger than the other. Before Draco could claim it, he heard Harry shout, “Highest points gets the bigger bed!” as he flung himself onto it.

Draco scoffed. “Where’s your Gryffindor sense of justice? You know we’re tied for points right now.”

Harry grinned from where he was sprawled like a starfish. “Oh are we?” he said with mock innocence. “Maybe you’ve been rubbing off on me.”

Draco felt his cheeks flush and hastily said, “Well I get first shower then,” heading into the bathroom before he could lose that race too.

He showered efficiently, trying not to think too much about the situation he was in. He and Harry had never shared a room before, and he wasn’t sure he could keep from showing his feelings in such an intimate setting. He steeled himself. He’d have to try. He knew Harry was attracted to him and liked their banter, but Draco felt their power imbalance acutely when it came to thoughts of anything more than that -- even though he knew now, had known for awhile now, that Harry was all he wanted. But Harry was The Chosen One. Draco wore long sleeves to cover his Dark Mark. He was just glad he could have him as _something_ , even if only as a partner. A _work_ partner. He sighed and wrapped a towel around his waist, then nearly collided with Harry when he opened the door.

Draco gasped at the sudden skin contact as Harry instinctively put his hands on Draco’s bare chest and Draco’s arms wrapped around Harry to steady him. He had a split second of panic as he realized that Harry wasn’t wearing a shirt. Tamping down the urge to run his hands up the muscles he could feel in Harry’s broad back, he pushed him away gently.

“Slow down before you hurt yourself, the shower’s not going anywhere,” he said with a weak chuckle.

He realized Harry wasn’t going anywhere either. He was staring, transfixed and horrified, at Draco’s chest. His fingers reached up to lightly trace the long scars stretching across his pale skin. Draco could hardly breathe from the painful vulnerability of the moment.

“Harry,” he said gently, catching his wrist. “Harry, it’s fine, it was an accident, a long time ago.”

He was not to be dissuaded, apparently. Harry’s eyes met his with intensity as his other hand now snaked over the scars, his palm open, tracing lower, lower…. Draco couldn’t help himself. A strangled moan burst from his lips.

“I know we sometimes play at this, Harry,” he said, his eyes shut tight as he tried to control his growing erection, “but this is...a different matter…”

His eyes snapped open as Harry pushed him against the door frame, green eyes blazing into his.

“I’m not playing,” said Harry, and he took his mouth in a savage kiss. As his tongue snaked between Draco’s parted lips, a burst of magic pulsed out from the air between them and the room shook slightly. Startled, Draco pulled away minutely. “Did you feel...?”

“Yes,” breathed Harry, and closed the distance between them once more.

This was not like any kiss Draco had had before. He was used to being in control, but he felt like was drowning in Harry, the soft press of exploration, the feel of his questing tongue, the light biting and sucking on Draco’s lips that made him moan and push into the hard body against him. _Maybe the Gryffindor way isn’t so bad after all,_ he thought briefly before he couldn’t think anymore.

“It seems,” said Harry, moving away from Draco’s lips and biting his neck lightly before tracing gentle kisses down Draco’s scars, “that I owe you an apology.” His hands were busy pulling away Draco’s towel. _Merlin, was he going to…?_

And then his straining cock was enveloped in Harry’s mouth. His back arched and his head thudded back against the door frame as he surrendered to bliss. Harry started deep and slow, taking as much of him as he could and sucking hard to the tip until Draco was keening for release. As Harry ran his tongue up the vein, a strong hand clasped tightly around the base of his shaft. “Not yet,” said Harry wickedly, and shifted to suck gently on the tip, teasing with his tongue, and flicking into the slit where Draco knew he was dripping with need. “Harry, _Merlin_ ,” Draco moaned, fisting his hands roughly in Harry’s hair. Harry’s hand started to move in short, sure strokes up his shaft as his mouth sucked greedily in rhythm at the tip, and then Draco gasped as his whole length was engulfed again and again, deeper and deeper, and he could barely cry out a warning before he came, moaning Harry’s name and pulsing across his clever tongue as he shuddered through his release. He looked down in wonder as Harry’s mouth slid off and he swallowed. Harry’s breathing was ragged as he pulled himself up Draco’s body and leaned on his chest, his own erection pushing hard against Draco’s hip. He tucked his head into Draco’s shoulder and Draco heard him whisper, “Point, _me_.”

“Not for long,” Draco growled, and then his hands were at Harry’s zipper.

**…………**

They both got the big bed, after all. Harry was tucked drowsily against Draco’s bare chest and Draco absentmindedly stroked his soft hair, looking down at the long black lashes curling against Harry’s cheeks. His heart ached with something he had never felt before. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined someone showing him so much trust, especially someone who knew everything he had done. He felt like for this night, at least, all pretense was stripped away, that they were somewhere beyond the banter. He sighed against the sudden onslaught of emotion and Harry tucked in more snugly, throwing a leg over Draco’s own. Draco was leaning over carefully to turn out the light when he felt Harry stiffen.

“Draco?” Harry said, sounding suddenly quite awake. “Could we...sleep with the light on, please? Or the curtains open, that would probably be enough.”

Something about his tone told Draco now was not the time for teasing.

“Harry, are you afraid of the dark?” he asked, gently. Now that he thought about it, the light had always been on when he had come through the floo into Harry’s rooms in the morning. “How did… how did you handle the Hogwarts dormitories?”

“It’s only when I’m by myself, or in new places,” Harry said, talking into Draco’s chest. Draco thought briefly that he’d like to make sure Harry wasn’t alone in his bed at home ever again.

“...Do you want to tell me why?” said Draco. “You don’t have to, I know we both have things we’d rather not discuss.”

“Um. Actually I think it’s something I’d like you to know, if we’re going to be… in a serious relationship,” Harry said, his head tipping up to look into Draco’s face.

Draco’s heart clenched. “We _are_ going to be in a serious relationship,” he whispered. Harry blinked very rapidly and Draco knew exactly how he felt.

“Well.. can we sit up, actually? I want to be able to talk to you.”

They scooted up the headboard and Harry took Draco’s hands, the Quidditch calluses on his palms both foreign and comforting. Draco ran his thumbs lightly over the back, and let Harry take his time.

“This is going to make you angry,” said Harry earnestly. “And I think you will want to hurt someone.” Draco’s hands stopped moving.

“And I need to know, I need you to swear to me, that you will not do anything without asking me what I want. Because right now I have everything I want, and it is not there, it is here.”

Draco was silent. He took a deep breath. “I swear,” he said, though his voice shook slightly. _What was this final secret?_

“Our childhoods were very different, as you know,” Harry said with a wry smile. “Your whole world was magic. My aunt and uncle… they were very afraid of magic. They were very afraid of me. And I...I lived in a cupboard.”

Draco couldn’t breathe. “A...cupboard?”

“Yes,” said Harry, not meeting his eyes. “Until I got my Hogwarts letter, I slept in a cupboard under the stairs. With the cleaning supplies.”

Draco’s heart was pounding. He hadn’t felt a rage this strong in years. He felt like it was going to incinerate them where they sat. Trying to keep his tone even, he said, “And it was dark?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Dark and...small. So I don’t like anything that reminds me -”

Draco’s crushing hug cut him off. Draco felt Harry’s face wet against his chest and he thought he was going to burst with rage and love and pain.

“You were a _child_ ,” he finally forced out.

“Yes.” Harry’s voice was muffled in his chest.

“They're your _family_ ,” Draco’s voice cracked.

“No,” said Harry, then pried Draco’s arms gently off to look him in the eyes. “You’ve met my family. My whole, beautiful, strange family of Weasleys, and Grangers, and Longbottoms, and...and you.”

Draco’s eyes stung as he kissed Harry gently on the mouth, the cheeks, the eyelids, everywhere he could reach. “I love you, Harry,” he said quietly, into Harry’s hair.

“I love you too, Draco.”

They sat holding each other for a few moments longer and then slid down to an entwined sleeping position, Harry curled again along Draco’s chest.

“I don’t like feeling like someone hurt my family and I can’t do anything about it,” Draco said quietly.

Harry shifted against him. “I know,” he said into Draco’s chest. “I know, for you particularly. But it really was a long time ago, even though I’m sharing it with you now.”

“How can you let it go when you’re so powerful? You could make them pay however you wanted.”

He felt Harry’s lips twitch. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of my magical abilities, Malfoy.” There was the suggestion of a laugh behind it that made Draco smile. He elbowed Harry lightly in the ribs.

“I thought about it, often,” said Harry with a sigh, “But what it came down to is knowing that all it would do is make them more afraid of me, hate me more. If nothing I can do can make them genuinely care for me, then… well I thought it would honestly just make the pain of it come back again.”

That made sense, Draco could grudgingly admit, even though a big part of him still wanted to curse their house into dust. But he had promised Harry — and he understood why he couldn’t. He’d just have to try to make those memories seem as far away as possible.

“Good thing you have me to care for you then,” he said gruffly.

“You can show me again how _much_ you _care for me_ if you want…” He could feel Harry’s grin, before Harry ran a hand down his stomach and did something that made him squeak in a very undignified way.

They tousled briefly and half-heartedly before falling asleep tangled in each other’s arms — with the lights on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are in love, but there's more to come! I promised you smut and a sassy ghost, and they are both on their way in Chapter 4 (almost done!)


	4. All In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me longer than I hoped to make this come together (I changed tracks so many times) but I'm glad I could finally bring you my sassy ghost -- she was the original idea for this entire story, and somehow it took me until Chapter 4 to get to her! This chapter is a little love letter to Tobermory, which is all things wonderful. Hopefully this does it justice. Thanks for sticking with me!

**Winter 2002**

“I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this bet,” Draco said as he walked down the hall quickly, an action made challenging by his persistent erection.

Harry grinned. “I wouldn’t have if Ginny hadn’t, but after her performance two weeks ago I had to rise to the occasion. Speaking of rising…”

“If you don’t walk faster I am going to pound you into the wall right here in the hallway,” Draco growled. Harry laughed, but he also sped up.

 _Sheer Gryffindor audacity_ , Draco thought, _was going to be the end of him._ They really were absurd sometimes when they all got together, especially when George was involved. Or alcohol. Or worst of all, George _and_ alcohol, which was what had led to Harry and Ginny’s ridiculous bet over who could deliver the most suggestive staff meeting presentation without anyone noticing what they were doing.

Draco had to admit Ginny’s presentation on the proper care of auror equipment had been masterful. She had discussed the best way to “rub things down” and “holster wands” without blinking an eye.

Not to be outdone, Harry had used his half hour this week to absolutely torture Draco by giving a thorough overview of current methods for taking down a suspect in a building, his deadpan delivery mercilessly focused on “breaching entrances,” “going in the back,” and “easing yourself in.” Draco had practically felt the other aurors squirming self-consciously from their own dirty minds. It would have been hilarious if he had been able to imagine it wasn’t directed at him. As it was, he had every intention of “going in the back” as soon as possible.

He pushed their office door open so hard he heard the hinges creak, and dragged Harry in after him, slamming the door closed and backing Harry against the desk. He ran his hands slowly and intentionally down lightly muscled arms, wrapping his fingers firmly around slim wrists as he ground his now straining cock against Harry’s hips. 

Harry moaned and said something pointless that sounded like “we’re at work” before Draco took his mouth in a rough kiss, biting lightly and tangling his tongue in Harry’s. He was lost, always lost in Harry’s kisses the moment they connected, and he took his time exploring the soft, full lips and the warm pressure of Harry’s tongue against his before he trailed kisses across his jaw and sucked hard on Harry’s neck. Harry gasped and it reminded Draco to cast a silencing charm on the room. It _would_ actually bad for them to be caught shagging in their office.

 _No time to waste,_ he thought, and his cock agreed. He released Harry, flipping him around and reaching for his waistband.

“Eager to show me what you learned today?” said Harry, actually wiggling his arse. Draco chuckled and unzipped Harry’s trousers, pulling them slowly down, boxers and all, and squeezing the perfect globes of Harry’s arse appreciatively.

“I have a very literal interpretation,” said Draco, freeing himself and rubbing the head of his cock against the the base of Harry’s back. “And very little patience,” he added as he cast a lubrication charm on his hand and reached for Harry’s entrance.

Harry writhed slightly as Draco’s long finger breached him and his keening wail almost made Draco come on the spot. He squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths as he worked his finger in and out, reaching around with his other hand to stroke Harry’s long, thick cock.

“Please, Draco, _Merlin,_ ” Harry begged. “ _More._ ”

Draco worked in a second finger, stretching them apart and bending them to find the spot he knew would make Harry see stars. As Harry pushed back into him wantonly, his resistance failed. He slicked his cock with a few torturous tugs and guided the head against Harry’s entrance, pausing to make sure he wasn’t being too demanding.

Leaning forward over Harry’s back, even more turned on by the fact that he was still clothed except for his naked arse, he whispered huskily, “I’m going to fuck you into this desk until it breaks.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Harry whispered, and Draco pushed himself in to tight, hot bliss. He moved slowly at first, knowing Harry loved to be filled this way but also knowing the burn of adjustment. Harry reached his arms across the desk to grip the far edge with his fingers as he pushed back into Draco, a wordless request for what he had been promised. So Draco pounded him.

**…………**

Facing the closed office door, Kingsley wondered if Harry and Draco had gone home for the day. He hoped not -- he knew they would be excited about the case that had just come across his desk. He tried the door handle, which moved, and he paused. The young aurors had been up front about their relationship when they had started dating several months ago, and were good about maintaining their professionalism at work. _Well_ , Kingsley thought wryly, _as much professionalism as they had ever demonstrated._ Still, he had no desire to walk in on anything that might occur behind a closed door. His knock was met by a silence so resounding he had turned around to leave before he heard Harry’s voice say rather breathlessly, “Um, just a minute!”

Kingsley suspected he had a very good idea of exactly what had been occuring behind that closed door. Sure enough, when Harry opened it several long moments later, his hair was rumpled and his cheeks were pink. He looked quite embarrassed. Draco was standing as far away as possible in the small office, tucking his shirt into his trousers. He did not look embarrassed in the slightest. Kingsley sighed.

“Oh for _Godric’s_ sake,” said Kingsley, “I thought I made it clear that during work hours -”

Draco cut him off. “With all due respect, sir, work hours ended fifteen minutes ago.”

“Not that you were keeping track,” said Kingsley drily.

“Of course I was,” said Draco. “The rules are very important to me, sir.” Kingsley almost admired his ability to deliver this statement without the slightest hint of guile. He decided it was time to just move on.

“Despite the _late hour_ , I was hoping you might be willing to speak with a friend of mine about a case. Since hauntings have become a specialty for you, there’s no question you’re the best team for the job, and it seems to be a particularly interesting one.”

Through total coincidence, hauntings had, in fact, become something of a specialty for them. They’d been available for three haunting cases in a row earlier in the past year and seemed to have a knack for resolving them to the satisfaction of both the ghost and the homeowner; since that initial streak, they had handled over a dozen. Harry had expressed to Kingsley that helping the dead reach a comfortable detente with the living was its own sort of peaceful work and they seemed to enjoy the cases, which other aurors could find tiresome.

Harry cleared his throat. “Certainly, Kingsley, show the client in and we’ll see if we can help.”

“Thank you, Harry,” said Kingsley, who ducked out of the room briefly and returned with a small witch with a kind face surrounded by flyaway brown hair. Her tidy robes with a small shoulder insignia indicated she was a clerk for the Wizengamot.

“This is my old friend Mavis,” said Kingsley. “She recently returned from vacation on the Isle of Mull with her husband at a charming inn that turned out to be extremely haunted. I will let her tell you about it herself. Tea, anyone?” Harry and Draco blinked in surprise -- it wasn’t usual for the head auror to offer tea service. He smiled. “It’s after hours, I hear the usual rules don’t apply.” Draco’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

“And scones, Kings, that’s a good chap,” said Draco. Kingsley would never outdo him on sauciness.

Kingsley rolled his eyes and left the office as Mavis took a seat.

**…………**

“It’s nice to meet you, Mavis. I’m Auror Potter and this is Auror Malfoy,” said Harry. He always introduced them with their professional titles to try to show he wasn’t making assumptions about his celebrity status. “We would be very interested to hear about the haunting you experienced.”

The inn in question sounded like it was very old, but recently purchased and renovated by an artsy young couple from England. It also sounded like a typical haunting, a ghost acting out to protest the house changing ownership, especially into the hands of muggles who couldn’t see it. Usually in a case like this, they would try to transfer the house back into wizarding hands, but the fact that it was operating as an inn would add a layer of complication. Moving the ghost was a possibility, depending on how attached they were to the dwelling. Harry and Draco liked these types of challenges.

Lost in thought while Draco questioned Mavis, Harry almost missed an extraordinary statement. “I’m sorry,” he said, “would you please repeat that?”

“I saw her take my husband’s glasses from the nightstand and move them onto mine,” she said.

“You mean she manipulated the air so the glasses moved?” he clarified.

“No,” she said, frowning. “I mean I saw her pick up the glasses and move them.” Draco’s quill, busy with note taking, stopped moving.

“Let’s take a step back,” Draco said. “You said you argued with your husband about misplacing the car keys when you entered the inn, yes?”

Mavis nodded in affirmation. “Yes, we had brought in our bags, and I asked if he locked the car, and he said he thought so but couldn’t remember, and then he couldn’t find the keys.”

“Please repeat exactly what you said to him?”

“I think I said something like, ‘I can’t believe we just got here and you already lost your keys, you’re always misplacing your things, you know it drives me crazy,’” she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “Which is perfectly true.”

Harry looked at Draco and he knew they were thinking the same thing.

“Did you find them?”

“Yes,” she said, “in the back pocket of my trousers. I don’t even know how she got them in there without my noticing.”

“Am I correct in guessing that this was not the only thing your husband misplaced that day, or the only time you fought about it?” Harry said.

She looked surprised and intrigued. “How did you know?” she said, and recounted the extraordinary experience of having spent nearly the entirety of their trip watching the ghost systematically move as many of her husband’s things as possible into her own space and then hug the corners of the room waiting for them to have a row from tripping all over each other during the “searches.”

“What happened if you didn’t have an argument?” Draco asked.

“She got more persistent,” Mavis said. “The one time I didn’t nag him for something he _misplaced_ , she tied us in to our blankets while we slept. After that, we just went through the motions. He’s a muggle and couldn’t see her, but I explained the situation early in the weekend when we were out of the house so we could work together. It was like being in a very strange play,” she finished.

“It sounds like this ghost has it in for couples,” Harry said. “Could be that she was jilted by a lover. And you said you talked to the innkeepers? Your experience isn’t unique?”

Mavis and her husband had taken the innkeepers for tea at the end of their trip, at which point Mavis explained that she was a “psychic” and that she was quite sure their inn was haunted. She had expected to have to convince them, but they had instead nodded eagerly and told her that they had been having problems like this since the day they opened. They seemed more than happy to meet with her colleagues who were “specialists in that line of work.”

“One last thing, Mavis,” said Draco, closing his notebook. “Why did you never tell the ghost you could see her? If she has so little contact with witches and wizards, she probably would have been very responsive to you.”

Mavis blushed. “Begging your pardon, Auror Malfoy, but have you ever met a ghost in a muggle residence when you were off-duty?”

Draco blinked. “No, I suppose not, we’ve always been on assignment.”

“Well,” said Mavis, “my husband and I don’t get away on vacation very often, and I just didn’t fancy spending the whole time as the first conversation partner a potentially crazy Scotswoman has had in decades.”

Draco and Harry both burst out laughing. Harry was first to recover. “Fair enough, Mavis, fair enough.”

**…………**

“Have you ever heard of a ghost being able to manipulate objects directly?” said Harry, after Mavis had left.

“Only in books,” said Draco. “It’s incredibly rare for a ghost to have such a strong connection to a dwelling that they can manipulate it and objects in it directly, instead of just elemental aspects -- air or fire.” His eyes were alight. “I can’t believe we get to handle a case like this. It might be the first one in decades.”

“If it’s true it’s going to be a hard case,” Harry said. “With that level of bond to the house, asking her to leave is out of the question. It could even be dangerous.”

“Sounds like we need an expert in houses,” said Draco.

When they flooed home from the Ministry later that night, they were greeted by the distinctive sound of female laughter from the kitchen that meant Hermione and Pansy were well into a bottle of wine.

“Pansy, just the witch we wanted,” said Draco, grazing her cheek with a kiss as Harry poured himself a glasa.

“Both of you at the same time?” said Pansy, fluttering her eyelashes ridiculously. “I couldn’t _possibly._ ”

Draco laughed as Harry blushed immediately. “Girls night?” he said, gesturing at the wine.

“Business meeting,” said Hermione.

“You do business meetings differently than I do,” Harry said.

“Well that’s because you’re not any fun,” Pansy said with nonchalance.

Draco thought this was very much a matter of perspective and was about to say as much when Hermione spoke up.

“Pansy is teaching me how to be a Slytherin,” she said. “I thought such a painful process would be improved by wine.”

Draco laughed. “And why, pray tell, do you need to be a Slytherin? In my experience you’re quite devious enough.”

“Well, as you know, house-elf rights are a passion of mine.” Harry buried his face in his arms with a long-suffering groan. Hermione ignored him.

“I started a small society during school,” she said to Draco. “I tried to move my ideas through the ministry after the war. I met some...resistance. So much that it was clear I wasn’t going to get anywhere with it anytime soon. So I became a healer.”

Draco couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard this story before. “Something of a leap, isn’t that?”

Harry laughed. “Her words were, if I remember, ‘Well if I can’t fix the system I’ll fix everything else!’” Draco’s laughter joined in. That was a classic Hermione moment if ever he had heard one.

“But now,” said Pansy, leaning forwards with anticipation, “we think we have a way to put it all together.”

“Yes!” said Hermione, eyes alight with excitement. “I had a house elf come in to St. Mungo’s yesterday for treatment, and it was a really difficult case. No one seemed to know quite what to do. Their magic is so different. A lot of our spells didn’t work properly. Did you know how little formal research has been done on medical care for other intelligent magical beings?”

“Someone should really do that research,” said Draco, striving to be completely deadpan in his delivery. Hermione was in her element now, though. She didn’t even hear him.

“And after Pansy’s success with pushing her plans through St. Mungo’s, she knows exactly how to handle them. She’s teaching me her ways so I can get my new program off the ground,” Hermione finished triumphantly.

“They won’t stand a chance,” said Draco fondly.

“That’s really amazing, Hermione,” said Harry. “I know you’ve wanted to do this type of thing for a long time.” Hermione beamed.

As Hermione waxed passionately about house elf medicine, Draco let himself fade into the background and simply observe as Pansy interjected with a quip here and there, Harry scrounged for leftovers and then ate a piece of pizza without bothering with a reheating charm, and Kreacher wandered in without anyone else noticing and vanished the dishes behind Hermione’s back so she couldn’t try to stop him. Draco had moved in only a few weeks ago but already felt part of the natural rhythms of the busy household. Harry was adamant that the five-story Grimmauld Place was far too large for just one or two people, and in addition to Ron and Hermione living full-time on the third floor and Harry and Draco on the second, Ginny had taken to calling the fourth floor home after she and Harry had stopped dating. The wards had learned to recognize Neville, Pansy, and everyone’s family members ages ago, and they seemed to have a revolving stream of guests (including but not limited to Ginny’s varied and creative dating pool). It was very different from Draco’s upbringing as the only child on a huge, quiet estate, with long stretches of empty rooms and sprawling dark grounds. He mentally sighed with happiness, and then when everyone turned to look at him he realized he must have sighed aloud. He smiled a little sheepishly, and saw a flash of white teeth as Harry grinned back at him.

“While I have your attention,” said Draco, covering his vulnerable moment with some reliable dramatic flair, “Harry and I need to talk to Pansy about a case before we leave in the morning.”

“Ooh, do you have a magical house?” said Pansy, instantly intrigued.

“Not exactly,” he said. “We have another ghost, but it sounds like this one might be able to control the objects in the house and maybe the house itself.” He heard Hermione gasp, and Pansy let out a low sound of almost reverence. “I thought you’d be interested,” he said.

**…………**

“Was the stop for hair products really necessary, Draco?”

They had nearly missed the ferry, so Draco supposed he could see why Harry was annoyed, although he thought Harry should consider himself lucky Draco had even agreed to get _on_ the ferry. There had been a certain amount of cursing during their final sprint along the dock, which was not improved by the fact that they had initially run right past the entrance and down to the end before having to turn back. They were slumped breathlessly now in the ferry’s modest cafe, next to a woman with a collapsible wheeled shopping bag who was looking at them curiously. Draco flashed her a winning smile and she looked away. He rummaged in the crinkly plastic drugstore bag on the table pulled out a chapstick, which he applied ostentatiously as Harry rolled his eyes and tried to maintain his stern expression.

“We almost missed the ferry,” said Harry, angling for an apology Draco wasn’t going to provide.

“Would you have me look dishevelled for the next three days?” He saw the look on Harry’s face and hastily added, “Don’t answer that. Anyway, this muggle pomade is a very reasonable substitute for my usual potion. Besides, it’s not like Oban is a sprawling metropolis, we had plenty of time.”

“We _would_ have had plenty of time if you hadn’t insisted on opening and smelling every available cream and gel in the hair products aisle,” Harry said. “Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like?” He said this in a falsely put-upon tone, but Draco saw Harry’s body tense as soon as the words left his mouth.

It was careless statements like these that were sometimes important. Draco knew now that Harry thought (at least on some level) about spending their lives together. His heart clenched with the thrill of it. He had known since they started dating that Harry was the only one for him. If he was honest with himself, he’d known since the moment a few weeks into their partnership when he had woken up in a hospital bed in St. Mungo’s to see Harry asleep in the chair next to his bed. But it wasn’t something they had talked about. Their romantic relationship was still relatively new even if their partnership was not, and Draco was terrified of scaring Harry off with his intensity. This moment, sweaty and shopping bag-laden on a long travel day, eating stale muffins on a vinyl table, seemed better for levity.

“You’re asking if your life is going to be filled with a gorgeous bloke with hair like an angel and a body like Greek statuary?” he said airily, knowing Harry found his unabashed overconfidence endearing. “I’d say, Potter, that life sounds very…. _hard._ ” He said this last soft and low so only Harry could hear him, and delivered his best smoldering look.

He was rewarded with a laugh. The tense moment had passed.

“So, let’s use this time to plan,” said Harry, casting a _muffliato_ charm so they could discuss matters of magic. “What are you thinking for our approach?”

“Well, we have the upper hand, since we can decide what aspects of our relationship we want her to latch onto. Very easy,” said Draco with a smirk. “There are so many ways you annoy me.”

“Oh?” said Harry. “I can’t think of any, since _I’m_ not the one who hogs the blankets and eats his food like I can only take bites big enough for a doll.”

Draco scoffed. “How many different ways are you fidgeting right now?”

Harry looked down at his bouncing knee and fingers drumming lightly on the table. He stilled and reached for his coffee. Draco’s eyes glinted knowingly.

“O Chosen Slurper,” he said.

“I thought you like it when I suck on things,” Harry purred, and then slurped his coffee with as much gusto as he could manage. Draco rolled his eyes.

“These are good choices, though,” said Draco. “This should make her interested in interacting with us, and hopefully we’ll be able to start there in determining her actual motivations.”

“Should we let on we’re wizards?” said Harry.

“I think so,” said Draco. “We want her to talk to us. If she’s curious enough, we might be able to bypass the whole charade.”

“Work things out with our words?” Harry scoffed.

Draco was inclined to agree. There was no way this ghost was going to go quietly.

**…………**

The main town of Tobermory had an excellent chocolate shop. _Really_ , Harry thought, _it had excellent everything._ Their walk in from the apparition point had revealed a postcard-worthy sprawl of coastal Scottish perfection. The chocolate shop was situated in the middle of the horseshoe-shaped main street, lined with a collection of ancient but cheerfully-painted shops and houses on one side and a bustling harbor of small boats on the other. The influence of young, creative thinkers returning to or joining the island community was apparent. An old cathedral had been converted into a modern gallery and wine bar. The chocolate shop had vegan truffles. There was an upscale jeweler with beautiful, subtly Celtic pieces that had pulled Harry’s attention as they passed by. If they could wrap things up quickly at the inn, there was a lot he wanted to explore.

Harry made himself comfortable on a long leather couch in the chocolate shop, which was more of a cafe. Draco picked his way over through the small cafe tables with two mugs of hot chocolate and a large bag precariously tucked under his arm. They were a bit early but expecting the innkeepers any moment.

Draco sat down and Harry raised his eyebrows at the bag, which Draco soon revealed to be full of truffles. “I’m worried you didn’t get enough chocolate,” said Harry. “What if you run out?”

Draco ignored the sarcasm. “It’s a real concern,” he said. “We might have to return tomorrow.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort and found it suddenly full of truffle -- and Draco’s fingers. He took the opportunity to suck lightly on his fingertips before releasing them, feeling a surge of lust as he saw Draco’s eyes darken.

“I have never regretted a professional obligation more,” Draco said huskily.

“Speaking of,” said Harry around his truffle, “I think our clients just walked in.” He hailed the young couple, who joined them, looking nervous.

The brown-haired man and woman were hardly older than Harry and Draco, and had a comfortable look of the island about them. They were dressed in practical, hardy clothes, and their cheeks were pink from their brisk walk in the cool spring air. The open looks on their faces made Harry like them immediately.

“You are the…psychics?” the young woman said, her voice a pleasant English accent, her look somewhat dubious. Harry nearly grinned. He knew that he and Draco, in their muggle jeans and wool sweaters, didn’t have the Professor Trelawney-like appearance the couple probably associated with the word “psychic.”

“In a sense. I’d describe us as contract brokers,” said Harry, adopting the script that would frame completely incomprehensible things in familiar muggle terms. “I’m Harry,” he said, reaching out a hand to shake, “and this is Draco.” The young couple introduced themselves as Kate and Quinn.

“We will help you and the ghost attached to your property reach an agreement for expectations and behavior so that you may co-exist comfortably,” Harry continued.

The couple gaped at him.

“I understand that it is difficult to accept that your inn has a ghost in residence,” said Draco, “since you cannot see or directly interact with her. But we hope that you can accept your own experiences with the house as sufficient evidence that this is the case. It is quite common and nothing to alarm you. We have standardized protocols in place to help you acclimate to this new reality, and you might ultimately come to find that your relationship with her is positive.”

At this, Quinn became animated. “Well, it used to be, we think. Positive, that is. When we first saw the place, when we were thinking about buying, it felt a little...unwelcoming. But we walked all through it, talking about how much we loved it, all the things we wanted to create and restore, and...we started to feel happy, warm almost. When we went back to make an offer, we found original blueprints on one of the tables, and we could have sworn they weren’t there before.”

“They were so helpful in the renovations,” said Kate. “We wanted to restore it to its former glory. With our own personal touches, of course. But…” she looked sidelong at Quinn before continuing. “We felt like the house had some...opinions? About how things should be done. Certain paint colors would disappear, or floorboards might be impossible to remove. But other things were so easy, things were lighter than we expected when we lifted them, or nails always went in straight. That sort of thing. We...we love our inn, and we almost felt like it loved us too.”

“Until we actually opened it as an inn,” said Quinn, with chagrin.

Their subsequent stories aligned with what Mavis had shared with them at the Ministry. Knowing how positive their own relationship with the house had been, however, was very encouraging.

“It’s clear that your ghost loves the house very much,” said Harry, “and it sounds like she was happy you restored it. Usually we would propose selling the property to someone more...accustomed...to ghosts,” he said, glancing briefly at Draco, “But am I correct in thinking that you aren’t interested in selling?”

They looked appalled. “We put everything into this inn!” said Quinn angrily. “How dare you suggest-”

“Not at all,” said Draco smoothly. “We were merely confirming your interest in working to share the property with your ghost.”

“How would that work?” said Kate.

Draco opened the contract.

**…………**

Quinn and Kate walked up to the inn ahead of them so that they wouldn’t all arrive at the same time. If the ghost got suspicious they might not get anywhere.

Harry’s lingering gaze on the jewelry shop window earlier in the day hadn’t been lost on Draco, and he felt everything click into place in his head. He told Harry he needed to send a message to Pansy, and asked him to go on ahead, maybe get a few small gifts for their friends at the gallery. Harry protested only momentarily, and then set off, giving Draco a chance to duck into the Isle of Mull Silver and Goldsmiths.

**…………**

Things were going well so far, Harry thought as he stood under chilly water in the shower. If they could wrap their work up quickly, they might have quite a nice weekend ahead. The weathered stone inn was comfortable and lovely inside. A bookcase-lined dining room with golden wood floors and large bay windows stood on one side of the creaking, rug lined stairway, and the other side was occupied by the modern den with the marble-topped table where they had taken their tea. Their upstairs bedroom had a massive four-poster bed and a view of the harbor and it would be the perfect place for…

Harry cut off this train of thought. He was having enough trouble controlling himself as it was. The ghost hadn’t approached them yet, but they had seen shimmers of her in corners as they bickered over Kate’s exceptional cake and tea in the inn’s den, Harry criticizing how Draco ate, Draco criticizing how Harry slurped. They had argued over the temperature of the room and their plans for the next day. Harry had used magic to reheat his tea, and Draco had used magic to summon a book, so she knew that they were wizards. Now they just had to wait. And Harry had to cool himself down a little, hence the water temperature. There was something about Draco when he was in full scornful brat mode, saying “Potter” this and “Potter” that with that posh drawl and flashing eyes, that went straight to Harry’s cock. When Draco had complained that Harry was keeping the room too warm and pulled off his sweater, revealing a long expanse of pale, carved abdominal muscles as his undershirt rode up, Harry had practically moaned into his tea. Maybe --

“Such _fun_ to have a _wizard_ ,” Harry heard a low, throaty voice say in a light Scottish brogue. “People can’t usually see me, you know.”

**…………**

Harry jumped and swore, nearly slipping in the large claw-footed tub. A decidedly female ghost was perched on the large windowsill of the bathroom. She had a beautiful, doll-like face, with large eyes and rosebud lips. Her long hair fell in ringlets down to a highly immodest bust line. He guessed from her tartan-draped garb that she had died in the Regency era. He wrapped a towel around himself hastily and glared.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, laddie, although….” the ghost’s shimmering eyes were appraising. “Certainly better than most.”

“Um, I’m Harry,” he said with an awkward wave, not knowing what else to do.

The ghost laughed, a merry but somehow distant sound. “Not particularly, just the right amount, I’d say.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Hairy,” said the ghost.

“Oh! No, that’s my name, I was introducing myself, I’m being...polite.”

“ _Such_ a nice lad,” purred the ghost, and Harry felt his cheeks flush.

“I’m Rhona,” she said. “I can be nice, too. Nicer than your gentleman, so rude. So _full of himself_ . Does he drive you _crazy?_ ”

“Sometimes,” Harry said noncommittally, wanting her to continue in this new direction without too much influence. _Maybe they would get a sense of her motivation._

“All those witty, nasty little comments. Don’t you just want to shut him up?”

“Er…” Harry said, slightly alarmed. _Was Draco in danger?_

“I could tell you did,” she said leaning forward excitedly, her ghostly curls tumbling over her translucent shoulders. “I saw you in the library. You could hardly stand it.”

“I think you misunderstand,” said Harry. “He may have his annoying habits, but I love him.”

“Oh I don’t misunderstand at all,” said Rhona with a knowing look in her bright eyes. “I saw the way you look at him when he pushes your buttons. You wanted to pin him down and...make him pay.”

Harry’s mind flashed on an old strong memory, of Draco walking him backwards into a kitchen cabinet. _Slytherins know what makes people scream._ He was beginning to suspect this ghost’s threatening tone was predatory in a very different way than he’d been expecting. He looked at her closely, trying to gauge her expression. She was speaking vaguely, but there was an opacity turning her cheeks almost silver and spreading down her neck. She was...blushing?

“Is that what you want, Rhona? To see what happens when we _really_ push each other’s buttons?” Harry loaded his tone with all of the leering he could muster. Rhona’s eyes went wide and she looked undeniably interested. “Is that what you wanted from all the other couples?”

As soon as the words left his lips he knew he had made a critical error. Her flirtatious air dropped as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. The temperature in the room plummeted and Rhona stood swiftly in a swirl of skirts and shining curls. Her eyes were cold and her face unsmiling.

“You _knew_ ,” she hissed. “You knew I was here. They _brought you_ for me.”

Harry tried to keep his tone steady. “Well, we have actually been hoping to meet you.”

“You think you can get _rid_ of me,” Rhona whispered, looking absolutely dangerous.

“Not at all,” said Harry hastily, “we’re just hoping to mediate an arrangement for your haunting that’s mutually beneficial for both parties.” The official words felt even more ridiculous knowing he was standing in only a towel, and starting to shiver from the cold emanating off the furious ghost.

“If you wouldn’t mind talking with me in the bedroom, I’d like it if we could discuss this more,” he said, reaching for a robe and putting it on before letting his towel fall.

“No, I don’t think I shall,” she said breezily, reverting to flirtatiousness with almost alarming speed. And then she smiled disturbingly, eyes flashing and teeth bared. “Enjoy your haunting,” she whispered as she vanished through the wall.

Harry stalked into the bedroom, grabbing clothes as he went. “Draco!” he shouted. “Outside, now!”

**…………**

They were lucky she let them out of the house, Harry thought, although he suspected it was because she was busy scheming. They had misjudged the situation so completely he could almost laugh. On the up side, now he knew what she wanted, and playing her game was going to be a lot more fun than expected.

“I met our lovely ghost. _Rhona_ ,” said Harry. “She is not interested in discussing a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Somehow they never are,” Draco sighed.

“She is, however, interested in something else,” said Harry.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said with a grin. “I think we have a bit of a voyeur on our hands.”

Draco stopped walking and stared at him.

“She made it pretty clear she thinks of our arguing as some sort of foreplay. She suggested I might want to shut you up, and her tone was… well, actually it was a lot like the tone I use when I threaten to shut you up,” he said with a grin.

“The times when you shut me up by putting something in my mouth?” Draco drawled, stepping closer to Harry and reaching for him. Harry felt his cock twitch. _Merlin_ he was strung tight after the day they’d had.

“Draco,” he said tightly, eyes shut as if praying for patience, “is now the moment?”

“Probably not,” Draco said. “Sounds like I should be saving it up for Rhona.”

“I think we should, actually,” Harry said. “I think she’s angling for us to have a passionate fling and just has a bit of a misguided way of getting us there.”

“Not so misguided for us,” said Draco.

“But I think very misguided for other couples,” said Harry. “I’ve been thinking back to what Mavis told us -- remember how she said she and her husband were practically tripping over each other, looking for things they lost, or tangled in blankets or clothes? I think she was trying to bring them closer, but didn’t really know how.”

“Do you think she’ll do the same for us? How angry did you make her?”

“Angry,” said Harry.

“You’re just so very good at it,” said Draco wryly.

“Shut it, you,” said Harry.

“Make me,” said Draco.

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. “Anyway I can’t say that I’m eager to return to the inn at the moment. Let’s go back to town for now.”

“Good,” said Draco. “We need to go back to that chocolate shop while she plans our haunting, I ran out of sweets.”

Harry gaped at him. “You bought a dozen this morning!”

“Yes,” said Draco seriously, “this _morning_.”

“You’re insatiable,” Harry said.

“You would know,” said Draco, grabbing at Harry’s arse. Harry dodged and continued down the hill.

After a moment he realized Draco wasn’t walking next to him, and he turned to see Draco bent on one knee next to him. His heart stopped.

And then started again. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment at thinking Draco had been about to… about to… and he was just tying his shoe. He felt disappointed and silly for feeling disappointed in equal measure. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked away towards the harbor, blinking rapidly at the sudden onslaught of unexpected emotion.

Draco looked up, and then stood, stepping towards him in concern at the look on his face. “Harry? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Harry said, not looking at him. “It’s nothing, let’s go to town.”

He almost flinched away as Draco reached for his arm. “Wait, Harry,” he said. “It’s not nothing, what’s going on?”

Harry fought with himself and lost, the words spilling out before he could take them back. “It’s just...I turned and you were… on one knee and I thought for a moment…I saw you go into the goldsmiths, you know, and...” he swallowed hard. “I thought you were going to propose.” He closed his eyes in mortification. It was too soon, and now he had brought it up, and now Draco was going to tell him it was too soon, and he had been at the goldsmiths for any number of other perfectly logical reasons. He felt Draco’s cool hands on his cheeks and sighed. He opened his eyes and was not prepared for the expression he saw on Draco’s face.

“I was,” said Draco quietly. “Or, I am. Not now, but… I’m planning to, once we’ve had a chance to talk about it.”

Harry stared at him.

“I didn’t want to spring it on you,” said Draco. “I’m ready, so...yes, I went to the goldsmiths, but I want to be sure you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” Harry said, his voice a whisper of longing and love.

Draco kissed him, and then pulled away smiling, taking Harry’s hands in his. “Well then I have to plan the perfect moment. Because a weekend of dealing with a vindictive, voyeuristic ghost isn’t going to be it.”

Harry laughed. “It would make a good story,” he said a little hopefully.

“Eager Gryffindor,” Draco said. “I’ll think of a better one.”

Harry smiled and kept Draco’s hand as they walked towards town.

**…………**

The rest of their day was very ordinary, which was very ominous. Far from their expectation of having their annoying habits exploited, they had gone entirely ignored. It was possible Rhona was sulking, Draco thought, but far more likely that she had something...special in mind for them.

He and Harry got into bed, wary of every noise and movement. Perhaps her plan was just to torture them with tension as retribution for calling her out.

“Lights or window?” Draco asked, the question a reflex by this point.

“Lights,” said Harry. “It’s pretty dark out, I don’t think the window will let in much light.”

Draco nodded, gesturing with his wand to close the shutters over the window, and then placing his wand in easy reach on the nightstand while Harry did the same.

They snuggled into bed, having decided there was no point pretending to be annoyed with each other if Rhona wasn’t even going to respond. Draco closed his eyes and sighed. The lights went out.

Draco reached for the lamp and clicked the switch. Nothing. He reached for his wand. It was gone. Panic rose in his chest as he searched around with his hands.

“Draco?” said Harry in the darkness, his voice tight.

“Harry, can you reach your wand?” Draco said, trying to sound calm. He heard Harry scrabble around.

“It’s gone,” said Harry. Draco swore. They had made a terrible mistake and Rhona had pounced. He cursed himself for not spotting their vulnerability -- it was so automatic for them to talk about leaving the lights on that he hadn’t factored it in.

He felt Harry stiff and tense against him. “Harry, I’m so sorry, it never occurred to me that she’d do this. She seems to have skipped straight to punishing us.”

Harry was breathing heavily and Draco could see through the dim light filtering around the edges of the shutters that his eyes were bright. “I’m...I’m okay,” Harry said. “It’s not so _completely_ dark in here, and you’re here, and…” he took a deep breath. “I’m okay, it’ll be fine. At least we know for sure how much control she has of the house, now.”

“Too much,” Draco muttered. They had none of the power unless they threatened to do something dire.

“You horrible hag, he hates the dark!” Draco yelled into the gloom. “What are you playing at?” There was no response.

“I think she’s trying to frighten us into doing what she wants,” said Harry.

“Well,” said Draco. “I know one thing that she wants. And I think it may serve to distract you.”

Draco ran his hand lightly up Harry’s chest to settle at the base of his neck, stroking soothingly until he felt his partner’s breathing ease. He tipped Harry’s chin up and kissed him gently, sweetly, easing his tongue in slowly and tangling it with Harry’s almost languidly. Harry wrapped an arm low around Draco’s waist and pressed gently into him. Draco responded by deepening the kiss and rolling Harry over so he was stretched beneath Draco, their hardening cocks separated only by the thin fabric of their pajamas. Draco moved his hips gently, rubbing their erections together as he shifted his kisses to Harry’s neck. He nipped at the soft skin at Harry’s collarbone and was rewarded with a groan. Harry’s hand slipped down the back of his pajamas, working its way into his pants and down the curve of his arse, and then he felt a long, strong finger press against his entrance. His breath caught in surprise and pleasure.

“She took our wands,” he gasped out. “We don’t have any lube.”

“I packed some,” said Harry. “It’s in my bag.”

Draco moaned in frustration at the idea of having to get off Harry to look for a bottle in the dark, unable as he was to cast even a simple summoning charm.

“It’s right here,” said a female voice from far too close. Harry grunted and Draco squeaked in an embarrassing way.

“Rhona,” he hissed. “We’re _busy_.”

“I know,” she purred, drawing out the word sensually. “ _Finally_.”

“Yes, well,” Draco said, reaching towards where she now sat at the end of the bed and snatching the lube from her transparent hand, “enjoy the show.”

To his surprise, she looked supremely offended.

“I’m not _staying_ ,” she said. “It wouldn’t be ladylike.”

Draco stared at her, then rolled to the side as he felt Harry push himself up to sitting.

“So all of this effort was just to watch _foreplay_?” said Harry in the ghost-lit darkness, his voice a mix of incredulity and fury.

“To _stoke_ your _passion_ ,” Rhona said dramatically. “And such passion it has been. No one else has understood the fine boundary between hate and love. But I can use one to fuel the other.”

“You really can’t,” said Draco, somewhat apologetically. “You’re terrible at it.”

“Then why did it work for you?” she said smugly.

“Because we already used one to fuel the other a long time ago,” said Harry.

They were both sitting up now. Draco was annoyed to have been interrupted, but they were getting somewhere.

“Rhona,” said Harry diplomatically, “it’s lovely that you want to help couples have a...er...passionate encounter, but your approach really doesn’t work for everyone. How many couples have done what you expected?”

The resounding silence that met him was the answer he needed.

“I think we can help you,” Harry said. “And we should talk in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Rhona and Draco said at the same time.

“Yes, in the morning. Right now, I’m busy. Rhona, if you don’t want your ladylike sensibilities offended, get out.” Draco felt strong hands grip his shoulders in the semi-darkness, pushing him down onto the bed. He heard Rhona squawk in indignation but her cold presence disappeared.

“Now where were we?” said Harry, slowly pulling off Draco’s pajama bottoms, caressing Draco’s strong legs as he went. Draco’s breath huffed as Harry’s lips sucked lightly on the head of his cock, which rapidly hardened again under the attention. Harry made a happy sound and sucked harder, swirling his tongue as Draco stiffened to his full and considerable length, and Draco made his own happy sound as Harry licked a stripe from base to tip. He heard the sound of a cap popping open and Harry bent Draco’s legs gently, giving him access to Draco’s most intimate parts. He hissed Harry’s name as he felt the insistent press of a finger at his entrance again.

“Is this okay?” Harry asked. Harry hadn’t topped Draco before.

“Yes,” Draco said, then continued with some difficulty. “But are you okay? It’s dark.”

He heard Harry chuckle and then moaned as his finger pushed in.

“I’m very distracted at the moment,” Harry said, before taking the length of Draco’s cock into his mouth. Draco’s hips bucked forward involuntarily and his hands fisted in Harry’s hair. Harry withdrew slightly and focused on the tip of Draco’s cock, licking off the precome as Draco felt a second finger press against his arse and then, as he groaned with need, slip inside. Harry began to work his fingers in and out, spreading them and spreading him, taking Draco’s cock deep in his throat as he did. Draco felt the heat building in his body and wanted more, more of Harry, before he reached his climax.

“Harry,” he begged. “Fuck me, for _Merlin’s_ sake.” In response, Harry gently removed his fingers and bent Draco’s legs up so they rested on his shoulders in the dark, and Draco heard the sound of a cap opening and clicking shut again. Moments later something new pressed against his entrance, soft and firm, and then Harry was breaching him, filling him, tormenting him, completing him. He was so thick Draco wasn’t sure for a moment he could bear the discomfort but Harry eased in gently, allowing Draco to adjust and accommodate. When he was fully sheathed, Draco felt him lean forwards and then his lips were captured in a warm kiss.

“Draco,” Harry breathed. “You feel... amazing.” Draco kissed him, letting the familiar comforting feeling relax against the intrusion. Harry reached down and stroked Draco’s cock, starting to move slowly in and out of Draco as he did. The combination felt good and Draco moaned softly. Harry still moved slowly, focused on the angle of his thrusts, seeking the spot that would bring Draco equal pleasure. When Harry’s cock pushed into Draco’s prostate he gasped, and Harry increased his speed, thrusting against that sensitive spot that blinded Draco with pleasure. Harry gripped Draco’s hips and fucked him, the way Draco liked to fuck Harry. He reached down to stroke his own cock and came with a shout, the mingled sensation of Harry’s cock inside him and the memory of his cock inside Harry driving him over the edge. Harry’s pounding rhythm paused as Draco clenched around him and he felt the pulse of Harry’s own thundering release.

They rested, spent and breathing heavily, under the covers. The lights came on.

**…………**

 

**Spring 2003**

“It’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” said Hermione. “Training for a ghost? Let alone...you can’t be serious about them showing her romantic comedies.”

“Kate and Quinn report it’s going very well so far,” said Harry. “Rhona wrote them a note that she particularly liked Notting Hill. And the situations she has set up to throw guests into each other’s arms have been much more successful. They’re hoping to start offering a special ‘meet-cute’ romance package.”

“If I hadn’t heard it from Kingsley himself I would think you were having us on,” said Ron, coming into the living room with a bowl of popcorn.

“I admit it’s a bit unusual,” said Draco, “but Rhoda doesn’t seem happy unless people are dragging each other to bed, and the inn isn’t happy unless Rhoda is. Thank Salazar we had such open-minded muggles to work with.”

“I could have done without the weeks of paperwork, though,” said Harry rubbing his temples. “What a nightmare.”

“Only you would describe the paperwork as the nightmare and not the actual ghost,” said Hermione with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“Enough about paperwork, let’s see the new game!” said Pansy.

It was their typical Friday game night at Grimmauld Place, although a smaller group than usual. They were all tired from the formal dinner the night before marking the announcement of Hermione’s new Care of Magical Brethren program at St. Mungo’s. Draco had insisted that a few of them get together tonight anyway, as he was seemingly very anxious to try out the latest Weasley chess set. Hermione, Neville, and Pansy were settled on various comfortable surfaces with their butterbeers while Ron stood in for George supervising the latest product test. This meant a rare game between Harry and Draco. They settled into comfortable chairs on either side of the board.

“I won last time, so I set the stakes,” said Draco.

“Don’t remind me,” groaned Harry.

“You can trust me,” said Draco with an untrustworthy grin. “Alright let’s see…”

He put a small box on the table between them.

“Loser marries winner.”

 

THE END.

 


End file.
